


Forbidden Fruit

by thatonepeach



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Aged-Up Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempt at Humor, Bondage, Coercion, Explicit Sexual Content, Filthy Rich!Hisoka, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Nightclub Dancer!Gon, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, References to Drugs, Rough Sex, Sexual exploration, Switching, Trans Alluka Zoldyck, Waiter!Killua, beach vibes, this is going to get so wild
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:46:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 75,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25850800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatonepeach/pseuds/thatonepeach
Summary: Killua, newly disowned with Alluka to care for, takes a job in the notoriousRomance Zonewhere he stumbles across much more than he bargained for.
Relationships: Gon Freecs/Hisoka, Gon Freecs/Hisoka/Killua Zoldyck, Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck, Hisoka/Killua Zoldyck
Comments: 173
Kudos: 282





	1. Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Hiiiiiii, I'm so happy to be back on Ao3 actually posting a new work. Of course I've been here reading and delving into new fandoms, but this will be my first posted work since my One Direction days. I first watched HxH in September of 2019, and after SEVERAL abandoned WIPs... 
> 
> I am here at last. 
> 
> Please enjoy the absolutely absurd ride that is this fic! I hope to update every two weeks as this is unbeta'd, and I edit HELLA.

The patio teems with luxurious patrons, and Gon Freecss stands out like a sore thumb. He lounges with legs splayed and defined arms spanning the back of his chair. His head falls back, the silhouette of a laugh like he hasn't a care in the world. The fitted, basic flannel slung over his shoulders and worn-torn jeans remind Killua of a guy he once fucked in the back of his now departed (R.I.P.) Range Rover at the crack of dawn.

Sitting across from Gon, a handsome man by the name of Hisoka gesticulates primly. He looks his part at least: older, rich sexual confidante taking his pet out for oysters and pretty cocktails. Golden hearts dangle from dainty chains adorning his ears, and the pantsuit of cream white and baby blue scream tastefully gaudy indulgence. 

Killua snakes through the maze of the dining room, summoned by Zushi who claims the pair has requested he bring them their drinks. He kicks open the swinging double doors leading outside. The sun paints the patio in a hue identical to the blood orange martini wobbling precariously on the black tray above his head. The clinging air wafting off the afternoon waves tastes of salt and fish Killua hates his job, and it hasn't even been a month since he started.

In the blinks of two amber eyes, Killua is cast in a warmth that melts him more than the sweltering sunset. He tries for a polite smile, and Gon Freecss offers a blinding one in turn. Killua melts into a puddle and slips between the deck's slats. Hisoka, intrigued by Gon's sudden shift in attention, twists curtly in his seat. He takes Killua in from head to toe, defiling him in one appreciative glance. The Jaunty Flamingo uniform of crisp white shorts, puff-sleeved blouse, and perfectly tilted beret has never invoked such horror in the core of Killua's being as it does at that moment.

Killua slips a stemmed glass from its perch. "Your _Sunset Martini_ , sir," he says, eyes roaming over his figure, heavy and prying, but nothing more than what he's used to though his pounding heart says otherwise. "And for you," he mumbles, turning to Hisoka, "a _Peachy Babe Bellini_."

"Thank you, _Killua_ ," Hisoka purrs.

Killua hides his discomfort behind polished politeness. Great, another creep out to ogle him. "My pleasure. The oysters should arrive shortly."

"Your pleasure, hm?"

Killua ignores the comment, glancing between Hisoka and Gon. "Is there any other way I can be of service?"

"Ah, now we’re talking about my pleasure, are we? How eager of you to offer yourself so soon. What do you think, Gon?"

Gon shines up at Killua again, bashful almost. "You'll wait on us, won't you?"

That face is hard to digest up close and personal. Killua can't handle anyone looking at him as if he's a mystery meant for discovery. He shuffles nervously and looks to Hisoka instead. He’s like any other pervy, older weirdo punch-drunk off of money and influence. They all expect the same thing from Killua, and though he is now stationed beneath their self-imposed pedestal as opposed to meeting them at eye-level, the implications of Hisoka’s predatory gaze are familiar—somehow safer than Gon’s inquisitive sparkle.

"Is there something unsatisfactory about your current server?"

"Not particularly," says Hisoka, a coquettish grin eclipsing the rim of his drink, "my only qualm is that she's not nearly as becoming as you."

Killua's cheeks flame despite himself. From their earlier stakeout at the remote beverage station, Zushi had warned him about Hisoka and how he likes to have his way with 'cute, twink boys' most of all. He also spoke of Hisoka’s guest for the evening: Gon Freecss, who blew in from the sea and took the coast by storm. Word on the street was that you’d be hard-pressed to find anyone so kind and happy-go-lucky, especially working in the Romance Zone. 

Killua floats away from the table, barely noticeable, but Hisoka’s eyes follow him. "I can’t serve you since I'm in training." 

"Consider us a valuable test. I can’t promise I’ll go easy on you, but I’ll reward you handsomely if you pass."

"Sir, I really can't."

"Who do I have to speak to for my request to be honored? You don't want a disappointed customer on your hands."

"Um." 

Killu struggles, looking for a plausible escape, preferably in the shape of Bisky. He really wants to tell Hisoka off, but that wouldn't look too good considering his already accumulating record; he has Alluka's tuition to pay for. Losing his job the day before she leaves to start a new life would be his greatest shame. 

His way out appears in the form of the bane of his short existence at Jaunty Flamingo, marching toward him with murder blooming in her eyes. Zushi had warned about this as well. 

A death grip seizes Killua's shoulder. "Killua, my dear . . . _sweet_ boy,” her voice shakes eerily, “are these handsome men giving you trouble?"

"No, the only one ever giving me trouble is you." 

"Oh, how feisty," croons Hisoka. "I love a waiter with a sharp tongue."

Palm's nails dig in deeper. "Stealing tables already, are we?" 

Killua kindly smears at Palm. "It's not stealing if they request me."

"Gentlemen—” she looks between Gon and Hisoka, her erratic movement concerning, "I'm sorry to inform you, but Killua here is in training. He can't possibly provide the exemplary service that you deserve."

"He told me, and so I offered to take his skills on a test drive,” Hisoka speaks sweetly, but it is clear there is little room for debate. Long, elegant fingers around Killua’s wrist. He arrests Palm, where she looms with an oppressive look. “I’ll make it worth your while if that is what you want."

Money isn't the problem here. It's Gon and his stupidly handsome face. Palm has sharked any and all tables occupied by young, attractive men even if they were as taken as Gon seems to be, who is, at the moment, sipping his drink with intense concentration and hollowed cheeks. He appears resigned, content with either outcome.

"If you insist, then we can't be responsible for the quality of your service,” explains Palm as she releases Killua begrudgingly, “I hope both of you enjoy your meal this evening."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," calls Killua as she stalks away to another table. He knows she'll be waiting for him in some indiscriminate corner with a knife in hand since she couldn’t drag him to his death herself. He dreads having to face death without impartial witnesses.

"Looks like the pleasure will be ours this evening," says Gon in Palm’s absence, laughing as Hisoka brings the back of Killua's hand up to his mouth, unperturbed. 

Killua forces a smile at Gon before glaring back at Hisoka kisses the back of his hand. "Consider this your one complimentary pass,” he says, clocking the answering curl of Hisoka’s mouth against his skin. “Touch me again, and I'll wring your neck."

Hisoka winks. "I look forward to it."

Killua pretends as if he hadn't heard that and barrels ahead. They order their meals without much fuss though it would be his luck that he's without pen and paper. He rushes back through the dining room, avoiding the corner from where Palm glares electrified daggers. 

_Grilled Sea Bass and Scallop with mashed potatoes and veggie medley. Roasted Rock Tail and asparagus, no butter._

_Grilled Sea Bass and Scallop with mashed potatoes and veggie medley. Roasted Rock Tail and—_

Zushi apprehends him before he can ring in their order.

"What did I tell you? You're Hisoka's bitch now."

"Now's not the time. I need to ring in the order before I forget."

Zushi tails Killua to the beverage station, breathing down his neck as he punches in their order under Bisky's login. 

Killua rolls his eyes. "Do you mind?"

"No, I don't. Go ahead. I can wait."

"Very funny."

Once the order is rung in, Killua slumps against the counter and fills a paper cup with soda, knocking it back like a shot.

"Don't stress"—Zushi pats his back—"You're going to do fine."

"I'm not stressed. I just didn't want to be the dumbass that forgot their order. Everything is smooth sailing from here. You're right, by the way; that Hisoka guy is a creep."

"It's moments like these that I appreciate my average looks. He hasn't given me a second glance in all the months I've seen him here."

“Lucky you.”

“You're just too pretty for your own good.”

"It’s not my fault; he’s a perv.”

"It’s par for the course in the Romance Zone," Zushi amends hurriedly, “that’s all I meant. Pretty things don’t go unnoticed here, especially not by Hisoka.”

The Jaunty Flamingo is but one of several spots in the Romance Zone: an established culture of extravagance, cocaine, and glamour existing in a quaint bubble off the coast for the rich and raunchy. Here you'll find the love of your life (at least for tonight) as well as—

Blah, blah, blah.

Killua is tired of hearing about it already. There's nothing romantic about all-night benders and stripper's asses jiggling to bass-heavy music. Killua tries not to judge, but the whole scene isn't his thing in the slightest. The Jaunty Flamingo was the tamest option while still offering a decent turnout.

"I know, I know, but that's not an excuse. This shit is exhausting."

"You said you're working here for your sister's sake, right?"

"Yeah, this is the fastest way to make a lot of cash with a semblance of my dignity intact." Killua looks down at his knobby knees, exposed and hairless thanks to Bisky. "Just barely."

"Well, we're all in the same boat if not for slightly different reasons, so remember what you're here for. Hisoka is a big spender and an even bigger tipper. Treat him right, and he may come back and request you again. Bisky will notice, too, and move you out of training sooner."

With Zushi's blessing and Bisky's watchful eye, Killua returns to the table, oysters in hand. Gon rushes to make space for the large platter for which Killua is thankful. A cute guy with manners, a killer smile, and sweet, sweeping eyes? He wants to be the one sitting across from Gon instead of Hisoka. 

"How about another round of drinks?" he asks, folding his arms behind his back; Bisky would be proud.

Hisoka swirls his dwindling martini. "Yes, but when the entrees arrive."

"Of course."

"Oh, and would you bring me some hot sauce, please?" asks Gon.

And he says please! God, Killua's standards are so low. He’d lick hot sauce out of Gon’s bellybutton if given a chance.

"Got it. Anything else?" 

Hisoka smirks. "Walk away nice and slow, and we'll be great."

Killua returns the smirk though he's sure he looks maniacal. Hisoka is obviously the kind of guy to enjoy toying with his conquests, and Killua hates those kinds of guys the most. The image of stabbing that red-haired troll in the head with the oyster fork flashes across his mind as he heads back to the kitchen. Hisoka would look best skewered.

Managing to keep his temper under check proves easier once the entree arrives. The couple is more interested in each other, leaving Killua space to observe. Gon is slow to eat, whatever story he’s rambling about enrapturing Hisoka as he picks at his scallops. Killua himself is a little too interested. He hears bits and pieces when he drops by, something about Gon’s father and worldly travels. It sounds about right; he has always been drawn toward rugged guys with a boyish charm though his previous life offered little opportunity to find such people.

"You're so attentive. I wonder why."

Killua turns toward Bisky, who approaches him from the kitchen as he idles by the bar. From their vantage point, Gon and Hisoka are nothing more than saltwater mirages behind stained-glass panes. The sun, a domineering disk on the horizon, paints them as silhouettes among the crowd. 

"Yeah, I wonder why. It's not like they're my only table or anything."

Bisky ignores the sarcasm. "He is quite handsome, isn't he?"

Killua shrugs. "I guess."

"C'mon, indulge me a little. I can only talk Menchi's ear off for so long before she starts throwing knives at me."

"So, we have two crazy lunatics here wielding knives?"

"I did see your little scuffle with Palm in the dish pit. You defended yourself well, so you have nothing to worry about. You'll be a solid part of the team in no time."

The bartender, Ikalgo, gives Killua a look. They haven't talked much since Killua started working, but he seems pretty cool, offering Killua chocolate-covered strawberries from time to time. Killua catches one now and nods at Ikalgo to show his appreciation. 

"What kind of manager are you anyway, letting people throw knives and shit?"

"You shouldn't talk with your mouth full. You're his type, but you can only get away with so much."

Killua scoffs. From what he can see, Gon likes his men with sculpted biceps and expensive taste. How could he compete with that? He may have expensive taste, but he no longer has access to the kind of funds to support it, and well, he’s more lean than muscular. 

"You’re one to talk. Pigtails are a little young for you, don’t you think?"

Bisky smacks his arm. "I'm writing you up again."

Jeez, everyone Killua works with is so violent; he raises his hands in surrender. "Kidding, kidding." 

"If I were you, I'd be over there, schmoozing my way into Hisoka's pocket. It wouldn't be a bad idea to join his harem of pretty boys, just don’t get any ideas and decide to quit once you’ve got a sugar daddy.”

Killua nearly chokes on his strawberry. "Huh? You were talking about Hisoka?"

"Yeah, who else would I be talking about? What, you're ogling that kid?"

"Duh. He may not be age-appropriate for you, but for me, it makes sense."

Bisky punches him in the arm this time. Ikalgo ooh's from the other side of the bar. 

"Do you insult all of your bosses?” she asks, “that's very bold of you if so."

"I'm only being honest."

"Your honesty is going to get your ass kicked, so watch your mouth. That's your final warning."

Bisky leaves Killua to harass someone else, and Ikalgo joins him at the well instead, aggressively shaking a tumbler over his shoulder. "You've got some nerve to talk to Bisky like that."

"I think she secretly likes it."

"Maybe so. She would be into that kind of thing."

Killua snorts, leaning over the marble counter to pluck another strawberry from the chilled bowl along the well's railing. "Thanks."

"Oh, no problem. Go right ahead and eat all of the hard work that I show up at seven in the morning for," says Ikalgo as he pours a frothy blue liquid into a tall pilsner glass.

"You should make an extra batch for when I'm working then."

"Whoa, cool it, hotshot. Just because Bisky likes you and Hisoka the Perv has taken an interest doesn't mean anything. You're still fresh meat."

Killua waves away Ikalgo's words like they're clogging the air. "Hisoka the Sleaze has a better ring to it. And anyway, I'm only trying to make your job easier. It's your fault for starting this."

"I was trying to be nice!"

"That was your first mistake." Killua snatches one more strawberry before heading out to the patio to check on Gon, whose head is bobbing around like a meerkat. 

The string lights crisscrossing over the patio outshine the moonlight by the time Gon and Hisoka finally leave. Killua is sad to see them go, but only because he may never see Gon again. He'll forever exist in Killua's imagination when he wants a sad wank over what could have been. However, his melancholy is quickly assuaged by five crisp hundred dollar bills that flutter to his feet when he opens the checkbook. 

Hisoka paid with a heavy, metallic credit card, so this money has to be Killua’s tip. It seems he’s passed Hisoka’s test. He snatches the cash off the creaky, wooden panels and pockets it. Palm had received fifty dollars from Hisoka to give up the table, but she may very well kill him if she were to find out exactly how much he made.

After closing for the night, Killua polishes wine glasses out on the deck. He strives for quickness so he can spend some time with Alluka before her big day tomorrow, but the three rows of bell-shaped glasses taunt him; it’ll be midnight before he’s free. At least the night air is a complete flip from sundown's suffocating heat: crisp, gentle, and a lot less fishy. 

Zushi plops down in the chair across from him as if answering his inward complaints. He grabs a glass and rag, and Killua sighs with relief.

"So, how did Hisoka and Gon treat you? I meant to follow up, but I got swamped with tables."

"I saw. You were running around like a chicken with its head cut off." Killua stretches his legs out to sit atop Zushi's thighs. Zushi only gives him a confused look but doesn’t budge. "It wasn't too bad. Hisoka was pretty chill once the entrees came."

"That's good. He's usually super demanding, but that Gon guy kept him entertained. That usually isn’t the case. The more bored he is with his date, the more he harasses the waitstaff. You got lucky."

Killua perks up at Gon’s name. He goes for nonchalance when he asks, "how’d you hear about Gon anyway?"

"I don't understand how you haven't heard of him. This part of town isn't exactly subtle."

"Aside from working here, I literally don't talk to any of these pompous pricks. I don't know what you're expecting."

"Well, when I went out for drinks with Mr. Wing, the bartender told us about this new dancer at Heroes and how he made seven grand on his first night—that guy being Gon Freeccs."

Heroes. The gay nightclub down the street and around the corner from Jaunty Flamingo. It was a glorified strip club, a true gentleman's parlor. Killua flushes imagining Gon twirling around on a pole in tight spandex.

"He's only hot shit because he's somewhat attractive and not completely coked out of his mind”—he says this more for himself than for Zushi—“Also, I still think it's really fucking weird that you go out with your childhood karate teacher."

Zushi polishes the wine glass in his hand with more force than necessary. "He's a kind and thoughtful guy!"

"And probably a pervert _since we’re in the Romance Zone_ ,” Killua mocks, “aren't you sixteen or something? Where are your parents?"

"I'm about to turn nineteen, you asshole. And Mr. Wing isn't a pervert. He's like an uncle to me."

“You know what they say about uncles."

"I don't know what 'they' say, but now that we're on the topic actually," says Zushi, shifting in his seat awkwardly, "I was talking with Mr. Wing about you— all good things, of course—and he suggested that I take you out sometime. You're new to town and—"

"—are you...asking me out right now?" Killua raises an eyebrow for effect.

Embarrassed heat dapples across Zushi's face, and Killua is pleased. "Not in that way, and you know it!" 

"I do know, but it's still hilarious to see you get all flustered."

"Next time Palm tries to kill you, I'm going to let her."

"I wouldn't count you shrieking at her to be helpful anyway, so go ahead."

Zushi sets his rag and half-heartedly buffed wine glass aside to push Killua's feet off his lap, glaring at him.

"Fine," Killua relents, satisfied, "if you want to take me out, per the request of your so kind and thoughtful Mr. Wing, you're paying. I'm feeling quite spoiled after Hisoka."

"How much did he tip you?"

Killua looks left and right, up and down. Palm could be anywhere. He leans across the sea of crystalline glass. " _Five hundred_."

Zushi's eyes go comically wide. " _Five hundred_?! That's more than he's ever tipped. He must like you."

"I guess I'm his next cute, twink boy. Move out of the way Gon Freeccs," Killua says, throwing his arms out and turning up his nose. “Though Gon isn’t much of a twink . . .”

It doesn't take long for Killua to finish polishing with Zushi's help. Soon he's wrapping himself in one of the few relics of his past life and heading out into the streets bathed in fuchsia neon lights that harken back to Hisoka's coiffed hair. Killua grimaces at the thought and also the drunkards sucking face near a dumpster. He makes it about two blocks toward the bus station when a familiar voice calls out.

"Hey, Killua!" 

He curses to himself, adorned in a knee-length leather trench coat and his stupid beret. 

In a gloomy parking lot, Gon Freeccs leans against a beat-up Prius, his hair wild and eyes bright. The forest green flannel exposes the hard lines of his chest, golden from the sun and utterly distracting. Killua almost misses his quick smile as he says, "long time, no see."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it this far thank you so much! 
> 
> What's kept me from posting a HxH fic for so long is my absolute fear of mischaracterization. I have definitely expanded upon each character's personality, but I think I've done a good job of keeping the core of who they are the same!
> 
> Drop a comment letting me know what you think so far! I'll be eternally grateful for any and all feedback. Like seriously, the serotonin boost I get rivals any drug lmao. :)


	2. Questioning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi babes!!! i'm so giddy to be posting again and a week early! hooray!! 
> 
> I want to thank everyone that commented on the first chapter, it means soooo much and spurred me to work that much harder.

At the sight of Gon Freecs, excitement reels through the dumb half of Killua's brain, but the smarter, more rational half, stomps the hopeful possibilities down to a pathetic whimper. He stuffs his hands in the deep pockets of his coat and keeps walking.

"Hey."

"Where are you headed?"

"Home."

"Do you live nearby?"

"No."

"Are you taking the bus?"

Killua cocks his head, voice laced with agitation. "Why are you so nosy?"

Gon laughs. "Can I give you a ride?"

"No thanks," he calls, continuing toward the bus station.

Gon peels away from what must be his car and meets Killua under a streetlight as if Killua's rejection was a beckoning call instead.

"It's going to rain, though, and you don't have an umbrella."

"The sky is clear as day." 

He could count the stars in the sky if he wanted to. 

"Look." 

Gon throws an arm around Killua's shoulders and turns him West. Killua squints out into the darkness where the city life slowly dwindles into rolling hills of more rural dwellings. As if on cue, a crack of lightning paints the sky, illuminating a thick wall of menacing clouds. "It seems far away, but it's coming in quick. Can't you feel it in the air?"

Killua frowns. He pinches the air between thumb and index finger like he might grab a drop of rain. Gon's arm brushes against the back of his neck; if Killua leans into the embrace, he won't ever admit to it.

"I'm not sure what I'm supposed to feel exactly."

"There's a sweet, musky kind of smell and everything feels a little too still. It's still humid but colder than usual for a coastal town in the summer, isn't it?"

"I can't say. I've only lived here for a couple of weeks."

"Me, too, but this kind of weather is nothing new for me. Where do you come from?"

Killua slips out of Gon's embrace. "Let's skip the small talk, yeah? If you're going to give me a ride, then let's go."

Though the outside of the Prius is worse for wear, the interior is well-kept and fresh, aside from the white chalk spilled on the passenger floor. Killua avoids the mess as best as he can.

"Sorry," Gon says, reaching across the console to pick up the toppled bag. He uses Killua's thigh for support like they're long-time friends.

"What is this crap?" 

"It's chalk for rock-climbing."

Gon hands Killua his phone, a GPS pulled up on the shattered screen. The pads of Killua's fingers slide against deep cracks as he types in his address. Of course Gon is a rock climber. He probably smashed his phone during a fall. 

"You live across town," exclaims Gon as he props his phone up in the nook of an identically smashed display screen on the dashboard. Why that screen is damaged, too, is something Killua can’t sparse out.   
  
  


"You can't back out now,” he says firmly, and once again, more for himself than the person next to him. 

"I wouldn't dare."

Gon flies out of parking, the Prius' poor engine whining with the effort. Every bump in the road rattles them, and the breaks squeak with the slightest pressure. Killua stifles a laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"I might have been better off taking the bus."

"Hey," Gon's voice echoes his janky Prius, "Don't be rude. Bertha can hear you."

Killua snorts, crossing his arms. "That's surprising. I can hardly hear myself think."

"That's a bit dramatic."

"What are you going to do once Bertha finally throws in the towel?" Killua pauses, and then, before he can think better of it he adds, "I've heard Hisoka gives big gifts to his sugar babies if they're nice enough."

Gon cocks his head, his lips screwing up funnily. "I wouldn't call myself his sugar baby. We only met recently, and tonight was our first date."

Killua feigns disinterest. "Is that so?" 

"Yeah, but even if that does become the situation, I don't think I'd like him to pay for things like a new car. I want important things to belong to me because I earned them and not because someone gave them to me."

"I get it. If someone buys everything for you, then nothing is yours, is it?"

Killua would know. Everything he once owned was never his to begin with. 

"Exactly."

The cheerfully eery glow of the Romance Zone fades into a sterile, dark blue as rows of tiny shops and stacked homes crowd the cobbled streets instead of gleaming, glass shells. Gon turns on the radio, one hand precariously on the wheel and the other flipping through stations. Light jazz filters through the radio's static and Gon settles on that station as thunder rumbles in the distance. 

Killua can't help peeking over at Gon. He seems young, not like Zushi in that he’s baby-faced and immature, but that he’s weightless and beautiful, seemingly unmarred by the world and its limiting implications; it hasn't pressed him into an empty carcass of adulthood yet. Though they have to be around the same age, Killua feels years older.

"So, how did you meet Hisoka?" Killua asks, breaking the silence between them. 

"Well," Gon scratches at the stubble on his chin, "he paid me for a private dance at the nightclub I work at. It was toward the end of my shift, so I was going to say no, but then he offered me a tip I couldn’t refuse. It was about what he tipped you tonight,” Gon trails off as if reminiscing, “he owns most of the Romance Zone. Isn't that crazy?"

“I'm glad I put up with his corny advances all evening then. He could have gotten me fired if he wanted to."

"About that, I don't think Hisoka meant any harm. Don't take it too personally."

"Yeah, what's the harm in flirting with someone whose job it is to play nice?” Killua quips. Gon doesn’t respond, so he asks, “is that not weird to you?"

"As I said, I don't think he meant anything by it."

"Makes sense. Hisoka would go for someone as unassuming as you. That's what his kind does."

"'His kind'?" asks Gon, glancing sidelong at Killua, who promptly turns away. "I know what I'm getting into."

"Do you? You just moved here. What do you even know about him? What do you even _like_ about him?"

"Aren't you the one being nosy now?"

Fat raindrops slap against the window, and Killua leans his head against its cool surface in defeat, immediately regretting his decision as they hurtle over a pothole. He quickly shifts back against the headrest, rubbing at the knot on his forehead as congregations of lifeless duplexes blur past.

"I like anyone that catches my interest," answers Gon after a light splattering of rain begins pestering the roof.

Killua wants to know what made Hisoka so interesting. "Obviously, but what's the criteria?" 

"I don't know. Pretty eyes?"

Killua struggles to silence the cacophony of voices in his head, reminding him of the times people complimented his own 'pretty eyes' and then, regrettably, how striking Hisoka's eyes are. His arms restrict tighter against his chest as if that will keep himself in check. "Oh, is that all it takes to get in your pants?"

"It's a feeling more than a set of attributes I'm looking for, you know?"

"Sure, like the feeling you apparently get when a storm is on the way."

The sarcasm flies right over Gon’s head again. "Kinda, yeah! When I started traveling with my dad, there was always someone new and interesting to fall in love with for a day or a week, or a month. It depended on how long we were in the area. None of them were similar in any way. I just _knew_ when I clicked with someone. During that split second when your eyes meet, or when you both touch in that certain kind of way, there's an intense rush of feeling that follows that's pretty addicting."

Killua knows exactly what 'intense rush of feeling' Gon was talking about.

"The rush being the sudden desire to fuck someone's brains out?" 

Gon erupts with surprised laughter, throwing his head back like he did at the restaurant, which is dangerous with the increasingly violent downpour pelting Bertha. "Yeah, something like that."

  
Right, so Gon wants to fuck Hisoka's brains out then.

They relapse into relatively companionable silence as a dramatic saxophone solo battles with the slapping of the rain. The road, now smooth, slick, and bending, suggests potential hydroplaning at any moment. Gon barely holds onto the wheel, so sure of himself and his speedy driving capabilities. Killua tries to relax, but it’s hard knowing Gon gets off on thrills. It only takes one slip up for everything to crumble, and Killua isn’t too keen on dying tonight. He makes sure his seat belt isn’t too loose.

The movement catches Gon’s eye, and he glances over at Killua. “Do you always get off work around the same time?"

"Why's that any of your business?" Killua asks, caught off-guard, "and keep your eyes on the road for fuck's sake.”

Gon shrugs and does as he's told. "I was just wondering."

"Well, now I’m wondering why you offered to give me a ride home."

"Isn't it a little late to question my intentions?"

"It's never too late. I can jump out right now—do a little tuck and roll and book it the rest of the way home."

"Sounds cool, but probably not a good idea."

"It's better than being murdered."

"I'm not going to murder you."

"Then you shouldn't ask someone if they get off work around the same time. It's a very suspicious question."

"Is this you?"

Gon jerks the car into a narrow parking spot outside of Killua's building. The hallway lights, buzzing and insistent, wink at them. The apartment complex has always screamed ominous motel vibes with the decaying framework and outdated color scheme. To afford Alluka's tuition and, hopefully soon, her hormone replacement therapy, this is the place Killua calls home. The sight of it fills him with resignation on most days, and tonight a dash of dread follows along.

Killua isn’t embarrassed about where he lives. It is what it is, but working at Heroes, Gon must live in one of the fancy villas with an oceanfront view like the rest of the young, starry-eyed boys that come to the Romance Zone for a leg up in the world. Too bad they picked the worst place for that kind of lofty dreaming. Men like Hisoka (women, too) get a hold of them eventually and sour any potential. That’s the name of the game in the Romance Zone. Killua almost feels bad for Gon; he surely doesn’t have a clue what he’s getting into.

"Yeah, this is me,” Killua says, fumbling to unlock the car door. Gon laughs and unlocks it for him. “Thanks for the ride."

"My pleasure," says Gon, gracing Killua with a cheeky grin.

Killua scoffs and accidentally slams the passenger door in Gon’s cute face. Oops.

He sprints up the stairs to his apartment and barrels inside, drenched despite Gon's kindness. Alluka sits on the couch in wait, arms folded and legs crossed like a parent who's caught their child sneaking in after a long night. 

"It's not what you think," Killua says immediately, kicking off his soggy shoes and flinging his coat and beret onto the back of one of the breakfast bar stools. 

"It's not? That's disappointing."

"Don't you have something better to do than spy on me like pack for tomorrow?"

"I already finished, thank you very much. Besides, it wasn't intentional. I was actually spying on Old Man Joe when I heard those squeaky brakes. Imagine my surprise to see you getting out of someone's crappy Prius."

"What's with you and Old Man Joe? Is everyone going after old guys these days?"

Alluka ignores him. "Why is your face so red?"

Killua scoops up a pair of shorts and a t-shirt from the dwindling tower of clean clothes on the coffee table. "I just ran up a flight of stairs."

"Who gave you a ride home?"

"Some guy that I waited on today."

"Oh, some guy," trills Alluka, following Killua as he retreats to the bathroom.

"Yeah, he was on a date with someone else. You can relax."

"A date doesn't sound super serious. People go on dates all the time. It could have been a fluke, you know. An excuse for a free meal.”

"Okay, and," shouts Killua over the sputter of the shower. It wasn’t a free meal Gon was after if their conversation is anything to go by.

"You look happy, that’s all. Is he attractive?"

"You say that as if I'm not happy."

"Yeah, I consulted the pile of chocolate wrappers and the ever-growing pile of laundry behind the couch," yells Alluka, now louder but still muffled through the bathroom door. "We all agree that the state of your happiness might be a little rocky right now."

A little mess doesn't imply that he’s unhappy, just that he's adjusting from the privilege of his past life. Both of them are, though Alluka somehow has a natural inclination for tidying and general upkeep that he seems to have missed while swimming in the gene pool.

"It sounds like you're going crazy if inanimate objects are talking to you again," he teases. "Should I set up an appointment with a psychiatrist before you go? "

"Don't change the subject. What are you going to do once I'm gone?"

"Uh, maybe sleep in a bed for the first time in a month." 

"I meant with your life, stupid. And you're the one that makes me sleep in the bed!"

Killua doesn't answer Alluka, which makes her knock on the door. "You know what makes me happy?" 

"What?"

"A peaceful, _quiet_ shower."

He can practically see her roll her eyes in response. As the King of attitude himself, he has a sixth sense. Left to his own devices, ruminating over Gon’s handsome face, Killua knows the conversation with Alluka isn’t over. Once she starts on something, she struggles to let it go. As a shining beacon of her personality that awarded her a few scholarships and navigated her through the worst of their family's psychosis, her perseverance also grates on Killua's nerves at the worst of times.

"I seriously worry about you, Kil," she says when he emerges from the bathroom, making room for him on the sagging loveseat. "When's the last time you went longboarding or read a good book? You haven't been doing anything but working lately. Don't you want to do something with your life?"

That was a pointed question. One Killua had asked of Alluka before they left home.

"Don't worry about me. It's my job to worry about _you._ You're the one going off to some fancy art school after years of homeschooling. What about your love life, friends, and hobbies? How will you balance it all?"

Alluka sighs. "If I'm not supposed to worry about you, then who will?"

"I'll worry about myself."

"That's the problem. You don't let—"

"—isn't this your favorite part of the show?"

Alluka pinches Killua's thigh. "Nice try."

"Can we simply enjoy our last night together without you nagging me? I've had enough of that from Kikyo."

"Fine, but you have to braid my hair."

"Deal."

Alluka settles her head in Killua's lap, pleased as her favorite reality show plays out on the tiny TV screen. Killua's fingers work off muscle memory, weaving her hair long, thick hair in strands of three. As an obnoxious woman sobs with a bloody nose and the remnants of her weave in hand, Alluka's words sink in; she may be right. The highlight of his whole week shouldn't be getting a ride home from an unfairly attractive stranger, but it is. And yeah, maybe it's time to do the damn laundry.

Still, he's happy, isn't he? As happy as he can be. He's providing for Alluka, giving her a place to live and now the opportunity to pursue her dreams. Soon she'll start transitioning, and then he will be extra confident knowing that he's done all he can, that he's a good big brother. That makes him happy.

But what then? What comes after that? Since leaving home, he hasn't considered the future in any substantial way (he’d been happy not to), but now it stalks his mind like a gaggle of vultures circling an inevitable corpse. From the drop in his stomach to the reactive clench of his fingers around strands of Alluka’s hair, Killua is regretfully unsettled.

It’s a poor attempt at distraction when he takes the two braids he made and ties them around Alluka's head like a blindfold.

"Ugh! You're so stupid," she cries, smacking him before pulling the braids apart.

"You don't like it? That's an exclusive, editorial fashion piece you've ruined."

"See, this is why I worry. Who are you going to torment—"

"—here we go again."

\+ 

The next morning, Killua is proud of himself. He only cries twice when seeing Alluka off. The first incident occurring during breakfast at her favorite vegan cafe when they get on one of those let's-recount-our-childhood tangents. The second is at the airport, hidden in the thicket of her hair. The quiet tears on the bus ride home don't count as those were a natural continuation of the goodbye tears.

His eyes are puffy and red by the time he gets home. The apartment is too quiet, too empty, nearly bringing him to tears all over again. Though her obscure paintings and vases of strange plants remain, it's apparent that she's gone. For a long while, Killua sits at the breakfast bar, staring at the alphabet-magnet message she left:

_the somethings will watch over u now_

_don't forget 2 have fun_

_luv ya bro_

Around it, Alluka's collection of creepy figure magnets she made last Halloween—The Somethings—leer at him, crawling and creeping and twisting in a sacrificial circle of despair. She couldn't have meant for it to be so terrifying, and yet here it is.

If it weren't for work, Killua might stay folded up like a pretzel for the rest of the day, blankly dipping a hand into his stash of sweets. But work is a thing, and his uniform needs washing. Without much else to do, the laundry finally starts rotating, and even the coffee table receives a gracious dusting after he puts away his clothes. Killua is surprised by the renewed sense of purpose he feels when finished. And then despair once he realizes this isn’t just a one-off thing. He’ll have to clean indefinitely, forever, for the rest of his life because Alluka is gone now, living her own life many, many miles away. This is what he wanted, but it hurts to let her go. The tears start again. Killua isn’t sure of the last time he has shed so many tears, but it feels good—a shower for the soul. 

Killua ices his face before heading to the bus station. The stares of strangers confirm to him that his efforts were to no avail, and when he gets to work, his co-workers are no better. He's relegated to bar-backing duties as Bisky finds him 'to pathetic-looking to be seen.' It's not his fault his face stains easily. Though when he catches the sight of his red eyes and nose in the scaling mirror behind the bar, he understands the isolation treatment.

"Dude, are you okay?" asks Ikalgo, pulling Killua into the beer cooler the moment he sees him.

"I'm great. Thanks for asking."

"Then why do you look like you've been crying?"

"Because I have been, but it's not a big deal."

Recognition lights up Ikalgo's face. "Oooh, I remember Zushi saying something about your sister going off to college. That's so sweet. You really care!"

"Shut up. Of course I care."

"I'm not teasing you, man. I'm a little jealous, actually, being an only child and all."

"Siblings aren't all they're cracked up to be. I got lucky with Alluka."

"Do you dislike the rest of your siblings or something?"

"Dislike would be putting it lightly—" a shiver interrupts Killua's train of thought "—listen, I appreciate the heart-to-heart, but it's cold as fuck in here."

"Right, right, right," Ikalgo says, ushering them back into the real world. "Hey, it's a good thing I made an extra batch of the chocolate strawberries."

Killua can't hide his shock. “I didn't think you would actually do it."

Good people _do_ exist after all.

"Why wouldn't I? It's much better than having to prep more in the middle of a rush."

Without Palm or Zushi working, the shift flies by without any hiccups or distractions. Killua spends most of his time at the well mixing drinks, but mostly stuffing his face with chocolate strawberries. He’s pretty sure he learns more about Ikalgo than the impressive list of cocktails Jaunty Flamingo is known for.

It turns out that they both like longboarding and street fashion. Killua was sure he’d only have Zushi to hangout with, and no offense to him, but if he hangs out with his childhood karate teacher, how fun can he be?

Since the bar has a lot more clean-up involved than a server’s upkeep duties, Killua stays later than usual to close the bar down with Ikalgo, wishing he hadn’t already burned himself out on cleaning earlier in the day. They end up walking to the bus station together, Killua mentally drained as Ikalgo recounts his various run-ins with troubled people in VR chats.

Killua is about to tell Ikalgo he needs a moment of silence when a familiar death trap catches his eye.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he mutters under his breath.

"That's what I'm saying!"

"No, sorry, I just—give me a second."

Killua knew he shouldn't have trusted Gon. If he were hanging around someone like Hisoka, how good could he be? It's just his luck that he's a stalker; this is what he gets for accepting some stranger's kindness. Killua stomps over to Bertha, peering into the chipped, tinted window of the driver's side. He’s disappointed to see the seat is empty. 

"Killua, watch out!"

The hatchback trunk swings open, and a mass of disheveled hair pops out to peer at Killua with sleepy eyes.

"It's you," says Gon, amazed.

Killua’s heart jolts as if he’s been electrified. It doesn’t feel like anger so much as elation to see Gon again. Not good. He shouldn’t be into his stalker. 

" _What the fuck, Gon_?"

Gon blinks at him as Ikalgo comes running. "Dude, what's going on?"

"Nothing," Killua hisses, rearing around to the back of the car. "Go ahead without me. It's fine."

"Are you sure?"

"I swear on my life. I'll text you later."

Ikalgo is slow to leave, glancing back intermittently. Killua would wave at him, a flag of reassurance, if Gon, swaddled in thick, fluffy blankets in the back of his car, wasn't so appalling. A cot hangs over him, holding folded clothes, shoes, a plastic bag of toiletries, a laptop, some strange vase—

"I can explain," Gon grumbles, shuffling in the cramped space.

Killua backs away. "Is this—are you?"

"Homeless," Gon supples, "I mean, this is my home, so I'm not _homeless_ exactly," he swings his feet to the ground and pats the edge of the car with a blanketed hand, "here, sit."

"I'd rather not."

"Why are you so surprised? A lot of people live in their cars. It's very economical."

Killua glares at him. "Are you stalking me?"

"No, but if I were stalking you, it'd be smarter to wait near your apartment and figure out your schedule that way."

Shit. Gon's right and he knows where Killua lives!

"Why are you parked here then?"

"This is the only free parking lot close to my job and—"

"—yeah, yeah, economics or whatever," says Killua, shooing Gon's words away with his hand, "Last night you asked me if I usually get off work around the same time! Do you know how fucking creepy this looks?"

Gon scratches at his head, an endearing dash of pink across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. "Yeah, I have to admit this doesn't look too good. I was waiting for you so I could take you home again since I'm already here, but it got later and later, and I got more and more tired and, wait, are you okay?"

"No, I'm not okay! I'm freaked the fuck out right now, and two seconds away from punching you in the face."

Gon ignores the threat as if Killua isn’t convincing enough. And maybe he’s not.

"Have you been crying?"

"Oh, for God's sake," Killua shouts, throwing his hands in the air, "Yes, I was crying _hours_ ago, alright? Can we move on?"

Gon frowns. "I guess so."

"Good."

Gon keeps staring up at Killua, his eyes wide and imploring. It makes Killua actually angry, how handsome he is wrapped up in a stupid, green blanket with crust in the corners of his eyes. His jaw clenches so tight the muscles ache.

"You know," muses Gon, leaning back against the cot, "my dad always said that my kindness could easily be taken the wrong way and that I should be more careful. I feel like this is one of those times."

"You’re a self-aware idiot. How charming.”

Gon grins as if he’d been complimented. "Can this idiot give you a ride home again?"

At Gon's offer, something deflates in Killua, or maybe something ignites. Either way, it’s hard to be angry with Gon looking at him like that. He wants to be angry for the right reasons, not because Gon is cute and consequently, Killua can’t handle himself. He knows better than to trust a stranger, especially one living in his car and he should be angry with Gon for being weird, but instead he's flattered. Which is stupid, so stupid. If Illumi saw him right now, he'd tell him just as much. He should say no, he should—

The drive is silent save for the jazz station that Gon puts on again. Killua doesn't have the energy to say anything about it. Plus, it’s nice to watch Gon bopping his head and drumming his fingers along the steering wheel. It’s weird that he likes jazz so much, but the appeal isn’t lost on Killua. There’s a chaotic kind of flow to it that makes sense.

He’s not sure why neither of them speak. Maybe they’re both searching for the right thing to say. Killua knows that, for his part, if he opens his mouth, only incriminating things will come out. He’s rusty at this whole crush thing, and he’s used to having a wealth of knowledge to exploit in his pursuit. He knows little about Gon Freecs (and his unspecified fling with Hisoka) which is all the more reason to be cautious in his approach. 

Gon parks haphazardly in front of Killua's apartment fifteen minutes later. He turns in his seat and gives Killua his most serious look yet. "I didn't mean to freak you out, Killua. I’m sorry.”

"You should listen to your dad,” Killua says, heart stammering under the attention. He shudders at how rude he sounds but can’t force something better out.

"Yeah, maybe so." 

Gon’s eyes roam his face, searching for something that he apparently finds around Killua’s lips. The space between them seems to fold in suddenly like a black hole has birthed between them, threatening to pull them in, closer and closer. And there’s that rush, the sudden desire to fuck someone’s brains out. Killua could do it, just lean over the console and kiss Gon; he's practically being dared to do so. The rest would be history, but that would be insanity to repeat the same old tired mistakes in hopes of a different outcome.   
  
  


"Goodnight,” he nearly shouts, reaching out for the door handle. He jangles it around and overheats under Gon's gaze. 

Gon chuckles, and unlocks the door for Killua yet again. If he's confused by Killua's sudden flightiness, he hides it well. "Goodnight, Killua."

Killua ducks out of the car, gently closing the door behind him this time and heading for the stairs. Usually, he goes up quickly, but each step falls heavier than the last. Maybe it's the emptiness he's going home to that makes him glance back at Bertha with her busted front grill. Gon waves at him through the windshield, a dopey smile on his face. 

Killua feels guilty returning home now knowing that Gon lives in that back of that janky car. How can Gon be so happy and easygoing living like that? It doesn’t make any sense. Even on the couch, Killua eventually got tired of his back aching and the lack of privacy. He can’t imagine what it’s like cramped up on the floorboard of a car. 

"Damn it,” he hisses, feeling even more embarrassed as he spins around and rushes back down the steps.

Gon rolls down his window. "Did you forget something?"

"Doyouwanttostayheretonight?"

"Huh?"

"Yes or no?"

Gon recovers quickly. "Yes, yes, I'll stay. Is it okay to stay parked here?"

"Yeah, it's fine."

They stare at each other.

"What?" 

"What, what?"

Killua rolls his eyes. "What are you waiting for?"

"OH," Gon exclaims, his brows nearly raising to his hairline, "you mean with you—in your apartment!"

"Yeah, idiot, what else would I mean?"

Gon shakes his head. "I'm stupid, don't mind me."

"I got that already. Hurry up."

Killua paws at his hair while he waits for Gon to collect a few things from the trunk, the reality of what he's just done sinking deep into his bones. 

“Aren't you worried that I could murder you in your sleep?" asks Gon as he follows Killua up the stairs. Killua would think he was teasing if he didn’t sound so genuine. 

"Yeah, but I could just as easily murder you. I sleep with a knife under my pillow—just saying."

Not true, but he might. Palm has inspired him to remain vigilant. 

Gon chuckles nervously. "I'll keep that in mind."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)))))


	3. Bonding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya'll!!!!!! thank you soooo much for all the support so far. writing is so taxing (it's the crippling self-doubt for me) yet so rewarding
> 
> i want to be a published author one day and fanfic has helped me immensely over the years, and I'm emotional as hell about this story since it's my first chaptered story. every time i post a chapter my heart nuts lmao. UGH, all the feels. 
> 
> also, thank you to my lovely beta, grape! I'm under the impression that I'm neurotic and overly-ambitious having edited this chapter five times in a week in between everything i do. I'm so grateful for your help and insight so far. T_T

_"What is this?"_

_"Wow, this is cool."_

_"You don't own a toaster?"_

Upon entering the apartment, Killua is relegated to the role of a tour guide by an inquisitive Gon Freeccs, and initially, he is not thrilled.

Per the nature of Killua's familial life, hardly any visits came to the Zoldyck manor. No one was ever interested in his collection of tattered books, nor did anyone wonder why he uses old longboards as makeshift bookshelves. No one was awed by his eclectic assembly of shoes and no one cared to inquire about Alluka's foreboding globs of acrylic vaguely resembling human forms—well, Silva tried to care sometimes on an odd afternoon once or twice a year.

Killua has never had to explain these things until now, and having to do so wears on his nerves more than he'd like.

He fidgets from the front door to the living room, from the kitchen to the bedroom, and back again. Gon stalks behind him, polite yet insistent in knowing about everything like he's acquired access to a new and exclusive exhibit at an acclaimed museum. Living in a car must make any home, whether it's a decadent mansion or a shabby apartment, much more exciting. Every tick of Gon's interest is cataloged and stored away. For what, Killua isn't entirely sure, but a home says a lot about someone, and he wonders what Gon hears from the squeaking old couch and odd knick-knacks. 

It's not like he wants to impress Gon. Except that irrational, stupid side of his brain _does_ want to impress. But what does he have to offer? He is no Hisoka nor does he want to be, so why is Gon touching his things and finding petty excuses to touch _him?_

"Help yourself to anything you need," Killua concludes, scratching at the back of his neck as he ambles into the kitchen and then hastily adding, " _within reason._ I know where you work, so no funny business."

"No funny business and you have a knife under your pillow. Anything else I should know?"

Killua rifles through the fridge, shuffling around the collection of smoothie supplies Alluka left behind and a sad arrangement of condiments, hoping he didn't eat the rest of that chocolate cake when he was high. Belatedly, he says, "if you want to watch TV, I lost the remote, so you'll have to manually change the channel and stuff."

"Got it. Do you have anything to drink?"

Gon's voice is closer than expected, and Killua knocks his head against the roof of the fridge, reinjuring the same spot on his forehead from when Gon first took him home. He glares at Gon, annoyed by his proximity, and sure that their closeness is his fault even though the kitchen is too small for one person, let alone two. Gon doesn't realize this as he leans against the counter and kicks the fridge door back and forth with his foot.

"Have you not heard of personal space?" Killua asks instead of answering Gon's question.

Gon doesn't realize the frailty of Killua's sanity either—how his mind will run away with the smallest of things. This close to Gon he feels exposed, obvious, and too greedy. He's shamelessly allowed Gon's subtle flirting and has let his eyes dance up and down Gon's body one too many times. Killua can't help himself; he should try harder but he is a parched prisoner freed, wandering through the Romance Zone's desolation, and Gon is the shimmering oasis on the horizon. 

Gon, in turn, ignores Killua's question and reaches out to the knot forming anew on his forehead, his eyes doing the thing again where they travel down over Killua's nose and settle lower, somewhere around his lips. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

Killua spins toward the fridge and wishes he could climb into it and be transported to a magical land far away. It's painfully obvious what Gon is doing, or not doing, rather. Or maybe Gon doesn't realize he's being so obvious just as he doesn't realize the lack of space in this kitchen. It's very unlikely, and that just makes Killua more confused.

He proceeds to struggle to remove a bottle of water from its plastic noose. The alarms stationed in the stupid part of his brain whirr and blare in case he didn't already know precisely how compromising his position is. It'd be easy for Gon to grab him by the hips and rut against him like they're starring in one of those poorly-scripted, unrealistic porn scenes. And Killua would say 'thank you' because those kinds of things should happen more often as far as he's concerned. Consensually, of course. 

Killua wrangles free two bottles, one for himself so he isn't stupidly empty-handed. He offers Gon the other one, and his face burns all over again when their fingers brush. 

It's embarrassing, to say the least. There are few reasons other than pride keeping him from trampling over any promises his past self had made because his past self didn't have Gon Freecs in his home practically eye-fucking him. The train housing his mental tangent of inappropriate thoughts takes this moment of weakness as a go-ahead to depart from the station, currently airing a feature of Gon's fingers—slightly thicker than his own—and all the wondrous things they could do.

Killua's wires are crossed and writhing, and he doesn't know what to do when Gon takes a long gulp of water. His adam's apple bobs up and down, the column of his neck elongating as he tips his head back. 

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Gon's unfairly pouty lips curl into an amused smile.

Killua, fondling his own water bottle and then deciding not to do so because it's slightly phallic (God, he is so pathetically horny already) sputters out a weak, "I don't know what you mean." 

"Are you sure you're—"

Killua smacks a hand over Gon's mouth, an instinctive reflex because he's been wanting to shut Gon up all night and can only be polite for so long. "Ask me again if I'm okay, and I'm kicking you out. Do you understand?"

Gon nods quickly, surprised by the contact. Killua is satisfied until a warm, wide tongue wets his palm. The gesture does things to him—demanding, thrilling things. There's a playful glint in Gon's eyes, challenging almost. 

"You're getting very comfortable," accuses Killua, pulling his hand away to return Gon's spit via the front of his shirt, casually mapping the dips and swells of his chest along the way. If Killua's fingers linger a little too long.

"So are you," Gon points out, looking smug. 

Killua bristles and yanks his hand away. "I'm more annoyed than anything."

"You're cute when you're annoyed. Like a cat. Maybe you just need a little more time to warm up to me?"

So Gon is definitely flirting with him, and it doesn't seem very innocent. It's now that Killua realizes what's going on. Gon was surely going to kiss him when they were in the car if he'd stayed still long enough. But he ran away only to run back and invite the fucker _inside._ Gon probably thinks there was more to the decision than pity, which there weren't in that moment. At least, not at the forefront of Killua's mind though he feels anything but pity toward Gon right now. He wants to warm up to Gon, wants to throw caution to the wind, and have a true Romance Zone kind of night, but there's Hisoka to consider. Killua should be careful and assess the situation with a level head. He's on his own now, and that's no excuse to go around fucking just anyone no matter how attractive the temptation—he's already done plenty of that.

"I've had enough of you for tonight," Killua says resolutely, taking Gon by the shoulders and moving him out of the way. "I'm going to take a shower."

"I thought cats didn't like water," Gon calls after him, laughing.

Under the showerhead's trickling spray, Killua handles himself clinically like a masseuse, ignoring the responsive tent of fabric over a client's groin. It's hard but honest work; he's trying his very best to be good and keep his hands to himself because once you get off to the thought of someone, it's bad news, and Killua might already be in too deep. A slew of questions and worries start bouncing between his ears because that's what happens when he's tense and wound up. 

Illumi's warnings come to mind. Sure, Killua has little to lose now, but that's no excuse. Is he really so desperate as to take a male stripper to bed after knowing him for less than a couple days? One that's hanging around someone like Hisoka? Killua knows nothing about Gon—like what happened for Gon to end up living in his car. Where are his family and friends? Aren't they supposed to take him in to keep him from doing something so reckless? Did he run away from something like Killua has? Is he wrapped up in the promise of the Romance Zone, alone and lost?

Gon's eyes flutter open when Killua pads back into the living room. He's settled on the couch, folded up in the same green blanket he brought up from his car like a well-wrapped burrito. 

Killua nudges Gon with his foot. "Don't you have friends you can stay with?"

Gon blinks sleepily. "Have you decided to kick me out after all?"

That didn't come out well. Killua tries again. "I just don't understand why you're living in your car. l. You've gotta have some friends that would let you crash at their place for free."

"I do have a few friends here, but I hardly know them."

The irony. Killua laughs incredulously. "You hardly know me!"

"I trust you."

"What? How can you trust me already?"

"I have a good feeling about you. When you waited on Hisoka and me at that flamingo place, you didn't lie when you forgot my hot sauce. Most waiters lie or play it off."

Killua wants to smack Gon upside the head.

"These _feelings_ of yours are going to get you killed one of these days. I literally told you I have a knife under my pillow, but I didn't lie about your damn hot sauce and you trust me?"

"You haven't tried to kill me yet. Am I wrong?"

"The water I gave you could have been poisoned."

"The seal wasn't broken."

Killua sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're crazy."

Gon smiles and kicks back at Killua's legs lightly. "I've been told once or twice, which means I can safely say from experience that you may be a little crazy, too."

Killua forgoes the rest of his questions, convinced that he's better off not knowing any more than he needs to. He'd only have more reasons to be concerned for Gon's well-being.

"Whatever. I'm going to sleep."

"Goodnight, Killua."

Killua settles into bed and does not think of the stranger in his living room. He won't. Absolutely not. 

Instead, he responds to Alluka's texts, asking about her flight and goading her about the freshman mixer scheduled for next week. Though his phone screen's harsh glow is blinding, it's a relief to shift his focus. He desperately wants to hear all about the angry woman who cussed out a flight attendant, and the endless list of rules at Alluka's dorms. But unfortunately, her responses fall off quickly. 

He huffs and tosses his phone on the nightstand. Sleep would be the next logical step, but the live wires snapping in his body say otherwise. He hasn't gotten to sleep in a bed for a month, and this is how his body acts? He would smoke a little to take the edge off if it weren't for a certain someone sleeping on the couch—a certain someone who also happens to be taking up prime real estate in Killua's mind despite his best efforts.

Every avenue of thought circles back to Gon.

_What should I have for breakfast? Another sad bowl of ramen? ... That wouldn't look good. I should be a good host and think of Gon. Maybe I should offer to take him out somewhere?_

_At least I don't work tomorrow … Does Gon work tomorrow? Maybe I should offer for Gon to stay for the day, so he can relax before work._

_Oh shit! I forgot to text Ikalgo back. It's probably too late now...I should ask him to hang out. Ikalgo said he knows some sick places to longboard. Maybe Gon could come, also. I'd like to show Gon how to ride if he doesn't already know. I hope he doesn't because then I could guide him, keep him steady._

_... I'd like Gon to ride more than his longboard._

That's how Killua ends up smoothing his hand over the bulge in his boxers, all resolve lost. He had hoped to contain himself and pretend he's not so affected, but he is. The thought of Gon in the next room makes touching himself more enticing. A moan escapes out into the dark, quiet of the room, an involuntary plea to be heard, though Killua is not nearly brave enough to make a genuine effort.

It'd be great, though, if Gon came in without knocking—because that seems like something he would do—to see Killua writhing in a bed too big for one. Killua would ask nicely if he had to for Gon to join him and occupy his space, pin him down, and have his way. Gon's arms do fill out the small shirts he wears, promising in power, and Killua is intoxicated by the thrill of that. His breath hitches high and strained in his throat at the thought of Gon holding him down, kissing down his torso to his aching cock, the stubble along Gon's jaw scratching and tickling along the way.

Or, even better, Gon would do all of that, but just when Killua's getting needy and desperate to be fucked, Killua would offer to fuck Gon instead.

He would love nothing more than to slide into Gon, nice and slow, those sweet, honey eyes gazing up at him, curious and hazy with lust. Killua's cock twitches, painfully hard and wet at the tip in anticipation of what's not there. He thumbs at it and smears precum down the shaft of his cock, bucking into his own touch and wishing he wasn't alone.

He wants to see the cute look of surprise on Gon's face when he sinks inside, his balls pressing snug against the cleft of Gon's ass as he grinds into him like it's the only thing he's meant to do. Gon would take it well; Killua knows he would. But would he gasp and moan or would he accept it wordlessly like a champ, waiting for it to be forced out of him? Even if Gon managed to bite his tongue, Killua wouldn't let him take it silently. He would bite and lick and scratch until that confident nonchalance of Gon's breaks apart. And then he'd kiss him quiet, drinking it all in like a fine wine. 

Killua gropes his balls as they tighten, a groan falling from his lips. God, he would do anything to have Gon in bed with him right now. Maybe he would even get Hisoka off if that meant he could have Gon, and wait— _what?_

Hisoka's leering smile blots the frenzy in Killua's mind. He actually considers it, per the request of his leaking dick. Alone in the dark, he can admit that it would be hot, Hisoka ordering him to his knees.

"Good boy," he'd purr, running his fingers through Killua's hair before yanking his head back. It'd hurt in the best way, and Killua would lick along the underside of his big, thick cock—he refuses to believe Hisoka would be anything other than massive—before sucking on his balls and pleading for permission.

Hisoka would give in if he's sloppy enough. He'd guide Killua onto the bed where Gon would sit patiently waiting.

"Open him up for me, Killua. You can do that, can't you?"

Killua grips the sheets uselessly as he quickens his fist's pace, hips rolling forward out of his control. He wants Gon so bad, he'll take anything—do anything. 

And so he would spread Gon's legs open with care, savoring every second as Gon watched him lean down and lick into him. Hisoka would pull Killua back when he got too eager and languidly squeeze his hanging cock from behind to keep him on the precipice of need. Those hands, elegant and expressive, rubbing over him and those eyes that eerily erotic way Hisoka speaks...

Killua orgasms with a choked cry; the sudden force quakes his legs and seizes his toes. Disappointment washes over him as if he has somehow let imaginary Gon and Hisoka down by not making it farther. He lay there, paralyzed, hand and shirt sticky with come, chest heaving. When was the last time he came so hard that he worried his body might freeze up forever, causing him to walk around with cramped toes for the rest of his life? 

Once he regains control over his limbs, Killua almost slips out of bed to go to the bathroom, but he remembers the very person he got off to is on his couch. 

_Right._

Killua will face Gon after fantasizing about him and Hisoka—the three of them together. Where the hell did that come from, anyway and why the hell did he like it? He had always considered himself wildly different from his family, but maybe the apple doesn't fall far from the tree after all. He comes from a twisted family; Illumi's strange sexual encounters are no secret as much as his older brother would like for them to be, and then there are the rumors about Silva back in his prime. 

Sleep starts to pull on Killua's eyelids, coaxing him in and numbing the vague panic trickling through his veins. Fucking finally.

_"Look at you,"_ Sleeps whispers, " _all blissed out and pliant._ _Are you satisfied?_ _Oh, you're not, are you?_ _I'm not surprised. You've always been greedy, Killu. Wanting this and that when Mom and Dad have given you everything._ _The friends you buy and the men you sleep with can't provide what you're looking for, you know. Maybe it's time you come home and stop giving in to these ridiculous fantasies of yours. You—"_

Killua pulls his shirt over his head, wiping away his mess with a tired groan. That is definitely not Sleep talking. He tosses the soiled cotton into the void, and along with it, the menacing voice haunting around in the aftermath of his weakness.

+

The smell of chocolate pancakes wakes Killua up like a housecat smelling raw meat dangling over its nose; he would know the scent anywhere. Gotoh used to make amazing triple chocolate pancakes with strawberries and whip cream. Killua stumbles out of his pitch-black chambers, slightly delirious and starving.

"You're awake!" exclaims Gon, a boyish grin taking up half his face. "You didn't have anything in your fridge, so I went and got some things."

Killua grumbles in response. He curls up on one of the stools, wiping the sleep from his eyes as Gon bustles around the kitchen. The chiseled expanse of Gon's back is exposed, the muscles shifting under smooth skin as droplets from wet hair cascade down, down... _down_. 

"How do you like your eggs?"

"Over medium," he says, snapping his attention to Gon's face as he wasn't just ogling him. "Can you make them crispy on the edges?"

"I sure can. My aunt Mito didn't raise an amateur." 

The fantasies of the night prior tease Killua as he waits to be fed. He doesn't regret a thing; he is more refreshed than ever. But what that haunting voice said is true, his orgasm did little to stifle his desire. He's more inclined now than ever to throw out all his concerns and just get on his knees for Gon. Whether Gon is either performing the whole I'm-kind-and-I'll-help-anyone thing, or he's buttering him up, Killua would risk hot grease splattering on his head and hope Gon is a sane-enough man not to refuse. It's like they actually fucked last night and now Gon is playing boyfriend. Killua is sickeningly enamored.

A plate of decadent pancakes, fried eggs, and glistening bacon appears before him, interrupting his rather important considerations. A tall glass of orange juice follows, and he stares in awe as Gon rounds the counter and joins him, smelling faintly of his shampoo.

"Is this heaven?"

And it might be. If Killua closes his eyes hard enough, he can imagine waking up to this regularly. He isn't attached by any means, Gon Freecss just happens to be so far out of left field it's difficult grappling for any sense of reality.

Gon laughs, nudging him in the side expectantly. "It's not going to eat itself."

"If this is poisoned," Killua begins.

"—then you'll somehow stab me before you die. I know."

Killua was going to say something more along the lines of 'then at least let me choke to death on your dick,' but the stabbing thing sounds more appropriate.

He takes a bite of the pancakes first. The texture is perfect: fluffy, moist, and so fucking chocolatey, he wants to cry. Then there are the eggs: expertly seasoned, the edges on the right side crispy. And the bacon, oh God! The bacon was just right with crunchy bits on the ends and a chewy tenderness in the middle. Gon observes all the while, eyes sparkling with pride.

"Good, huh?"

"It's alright," Killua says with a shrug, offering a playful smile when Gon does a double-take. 

"This is the least I could do in return for you letting me stay last night," Gon says.

And he's right. It's the least he could do. Killua can think of twenty more things Gon could do instead to show his appreciation.

"If this is what I get for letting you sleep on the couch, maybe we can work out something a little more long term."

"I don't know," Gon says, frowning, "that doesn't seem fair."

"I was kidding."

"Oh."

"You'd definitely have to pay rent," Killua continues, eyeing Gon from his peripherals. "Though that wouldn't be very 'economical.'"

"It wouldn't be," he agrees. "I think I'll stick with Bertha for now. I'm saving up for an important trip."

"Where to?"

"Kagate."

"What's in Kagate?" Killua asks, his curiosity piqued.

"There's a pilgrimage there," Gon says, in between mouthfuls of food, "that I want to do with my dad."

"Any particular reason?"

"My dad always talked about going, and I never thought to ask why," he trails off, poking at his pancakes, "I'll never know now, but that's okay. I _do_ know that my dad would want to go even in death, so I want to take his ashes with me and leave him somewhere cool along the way."

"I'm sorry," Killua immediately blurts, wincing at how insincere he sounds.

He's not good with these things and never cared to be. Yet he wants to say something— _anything_ — other than 'I'm sorry,' but the alternative onslaught of questions on the tip of his tongue shrivel up and wither away.

"Don't be. He didn't like anyone feeling sorry for him."

". . . Right," Killua says slowly. "At least you'll make a lot of money at Heroes."

"That's the idea. It shouldn't be too long."

"You'll be in Kagate before you know it," Killua assures.

Thankfully for Killua, Gon doesn't wilt. Instead, he blooms as he shows off pictures from his travels with his dad. Killua helps clean up the kitchen after they finish eating, listening to the same stories Gon probably told Hisoka at the Jaunty Flamingo. Killua offers a good portion of his attention since he's incrementally less distracted by Gon's half-nakedness thanks to the dead-dad conversation. And he barely makes a fuss when Gon insists on taking his picture for the contact in his phone. If it makes Gon happy, Killua will do it to recover from his own awkwardness around other people's sorrows.

Gon's happiness is contagious. Killua could spend all day cleaning with Gon, but it's not long after they finish putting up the dishes that an impending emptiness looms over Killua like a rain cloud. It's about the time when guests feel like they're over-staying their welcome and make a polite exit if they're sociable enough. He isn't sure what area of the spectrum that Gon falls on. All he knows is that he doesn't want Gon to leave yet. What he doesn't know is how to say that in the least incriminating way possible. As much as he wants Gon any way he can have him, there's a barrier that can't be crossed—a question of intentions that he's too afraid to ask.

So instead Killua asks, very lamely, "so, do you work tonight?"

"Yeah, do you?"

Killua leans against the counter; Gon mirrors him; they watch each other. "No . . . if you're not doing anything today," he drawls, drumming his fingers along the fake marble, "you don't have to leave. Like, if you hang out in your car when you have nothing to do, you can stay here instead. There's the TV and, uh, some books? _Lord of the Flies_ is pretty good." 

"Are you asking me to stay?"

Killua flinches. "What— no, I'm just . . ."

The words fall away, but Gon catches them, and he sounds like he's smiling when he says, "I have some things to do today, but I'd like to spend more time with you if you'll have me."

Killua wouldn't know since he's too busy investigating the nature of toes squirming in socks. He wiggles them in a noncommital, cresting wave.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever." 

"Cool. I'll text you!"

Killua finally musters the courage to look at Gon, surprised when Gon's head lifts, too, suggesting he'd been watching Killua wiggle his toes. He tries for a cocky smile and considers it a success when Gon mirrors him again.

"You better. Or else."

Gon steps closer. "Or else what?"

"You don't want to—oh!"

Gon pulls Killua in without warning, their bodies aligning flush together like the walls have closed in and they've been left with no choice but to become one. Killua goes rigid, arms clamped to his sides and struggling to speak. He's baffled by the intimacy, the lack of a kiss, but desire filters through his body anyway, igniting every starved and yearning fiber in his being. From the steady beating of Gon's heart to his crotch nudging ever-so-slightly against Killua's hip, every point their bodies meet is magnified. 

Gon is so warm, so solid and _here_. It'd be no effort to lean back a little and kiss him. Is that what will happen when one of them pulls away? Is it inevitable?

Killua manages an eloquent jumble of sounds before landing on "Uh . . ."

"Thank you," Gon mumbles, unbothered by Killua's short-circuiting as he rests his chin on a slender shoulder, the cherry atop melting sanity. "You didn't have to let me stay last night, but you did. I love Bertha, but sleeping in a car is only comfortable for so long," he chuckles, and the sound of it rumbles against Killua's chest, "my back needed this."

If anyone else apprehended Killua this way, he would pry himself free as if his life depended on it. But it's Gon, who cooks a mean breakfast and asks too many questions with those big, enchanting eyes. Killua can't bear to push him away, and he's not sure he ever could. Gon's embrace is encapsulating—crushing almost—and Killua's mind starts veering off into dangerous territory again. Would it be so bad if did kiss Gon right now?

"You don't have to repay me," Killua says eventually, patting Gon's sides with his hands, arms still restrained. "You've helped me, I've helped you, so we're even now."

Gon nods against Killua's shoulder, squeezing him one last time for good measure before pulling away. Killua offers a small, nervous smile and Gon waits there, that blackhole opening between them again. Killua is surprised that Gon hasn't launched forward himself considering, but he's thankful. Gon has to be the first person to offer him a choice. 

Killua sidesteps Gon and holds the front door open for him—his focus shifting to the ground like he might be able to locate the loose strings of his heart camouflaging among the striations of laminate wood; he's in way too deep, way too soon, but he understands the hype surrounding Gon now, though he wonders if anyone else can say that the Romance Zone's new It Boy has cooked them breakfast and eye-fucked them on more than one occasion. He hopes, at least, that Hisoka can't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed!!! this chapter has been incredibly difficult to write and I'm still not pleased, so any and all feedback would soothe my soul. thank you, thank you, thank youuuu for reading!


	4. Ghosting

The first call must be a mistake though Illumi Zoldyck makes no mistakes. The second, third, and fourth confirm Killua's laden fear: there is no mistake; Illumi needs something from him. There could be no other reason for Illumi Zoldyck to call an excommunicated sibling.

His brother's name in perfect font demands to be acknowledged as the phone rings and rings, a malicious buzzing in his hands akin to a trapped wasp waiting for the ideal moment to pierce its stinger into the delicate skin of an overzealous palm. Whatever Illumi wants can't be that important, but if he has Killua's number, then that means he knows where Killua is—probably Alluka, too. That can't be good.

The text thread with Gon returns to the screen, and only in the resounding silence can Killua breathe again. He slumps against the counter, the edge cutting into his forearms. At least Gon has finally texted him, a welcome distraction.

_Gon+10:02PM_

_\+ wat r u doing rn_

_Killua+10:17PM_

_\+ Nothing worth telling. You?_

_Gon+10:30PM_

_\+ good, u should come to heroes tonite_ 😛

_+10:31PM_

_\+ there's going to be bubbles and cheap liquor. we can hang after my set_

_+10:45PM_

_\+ hellloooOoO_ 😠

_Killua+10:50PM_

_\+ That's not really my scene._

Killua isn't lying, though guilt does tug at him considering he agreed to a night out with Zushi and Ikalgo after a week of their pestering. Zushi and Ikalgo are harmless, though; whereas a night of alcohol and watching Gon do whatever the hell he does at Heroes is not harmless. In fact, it is a very lethal activity to partake in since Killua likes to pretend he's the only one receiving Gon's attention.

_Killua+11:03PM_

_\+ But I do want to see what stupid shit they make you wear. It's only fair since you've seen me in my uniform._

Ten despairing minutes pass and Killua regrets typing anything at all. But then it comes, a dim picture of Gon flexing in the mirror with his tongue sticking out, the rolling planes of his muscular physique encased in a tight, black jumpsuit that cuts off at the thighs. A cadet hat hides Gon's mess of hair, and a cheap, golden badge reflects the flash of his phone. Killua's clears his throat, mouth dry as he pinches at the image for a better look.

_Gon+11:20PM_

_\+ like what you see?_

_Killua+11:25PM_

_\+ Hmm, it's hard to tell. You're a terrible photographer._

_Gon+11:26PM_

_\+ if you come tonite u can see in person, maybe touch too._ 😉

Killua takes a rattled breath, his thumbs tapping urgently.

_Killua+11:27PM_

_\+ Is this how you make your money? Giving guys rides home and cooking them breakfast so they'll come to spend money on your later?_

_+11:28PM_

_\+ Theoretically, IF I came, I'd have to pay to get in to Heroes and for a private show. I'm a fucking waiter. I can't afford this shit even if I wanted to._

_Gon+11:30PM_

_\+ who said u have to pay?_

_+11:34PM_

_\+ hisoka will cover you._

Typing out his name makes Killua's blood boil.

_Killua+11:37PM_

_\+ Hisoka is going to be there?_

_Gon+11:39PM_

_\+ yah he comes to all my shows_

The thought of private dances and creeps sticking wads of cash down the front of Gon's get-up is one thing, but Hisoka going to every show, spending a penny pretty on Gon, and taking him out to fancy dinners is another. And to make matters worse, Gon wants _Killua_ to come and watch now, too, and for Hisoka to _pay_ for it?

_Killua+11:39PM_

_\+ What the fuck are you playing at? Your sugar daddy will pay for me to come to see you and get a private show? Really?_

Jealousy pinches at Killua's nerves. As much Killua he wants to know exactly why Hisoka has to be brought into their...whatever it is they're doing, it's better for his sanity if he avoids that wildcard where he can. So what would Gon do if he did put a little something of his own on the table—an appetizer if you will? Emboldened by jealousy and the safety of a phone screen, Killua sends another text, his heart pounding. 

_Killua+11:47PM_

_\+ If you want to give me a lapdance so bad, just come over to mine. I'm not opposed. It can be our little secret._

Another excruciating ten minutes pass, and then another and another. Killua is hot with embarrassment and regret by the time he crawls into bed. Gon hasn't responded. Killua reasons that he's already putting on his show, phone out of reach and forgotten, but he can't be entirely sure. Maybe he'd been playing things exactly right by shying away, and they supposed to keep tip-toeing around what they want from each other. Gon might like the chase, but then had he chased Hisoka? More plausible, maybe Gon is put off by Killua suggesting that he cheat (if Gon is the monogamous dating type, but then why would he flirt so brazenly?). Or maybe Gon and Hisoka are swingers, and Hisoka paying for Killua at Heroes was meant to be an under-the-table offer. Could Killua's offering of a secret rendezvous have insulted Gon after such an offer?

Killua is sure he’s going to go insane worrying, having already forgotten about the unprecedented phone calls from his brother.

+

"Then what happened?"

"Knuckle punched him in the face, that's what happened! Everyone was like, 'oh my God,' but I was like, 'hell yeah'! It's one thing to purposefully misgender me—I'm used to it—but as the newly elected president of The Queer Alliance, I can't allow that to happen to any of the other members, especially not Koda. They just came out! I do feel bad for Knuckle, though. He's suspended because I didn't act fast enough and punch that guy first!"

Killua drapes himself over the arm of the couch, blood rushing to his head as he hangs. The phone radiates heat against his ear, and the tight sleeves of his work uniform itch his arms, but he's too tired to care. "I'm glad you have friends like Knuckle around. You shouldn't feel bad; that was his decision, and I bet he's proud of it."

"True, but still. I want to fight my own battles."

"I'd rather you not. Friends are supposed to help each other out, aren't they? If he wanted to jump in, let him."

Alluka scoffs. "You're just saying that because I'm your sister. What do you know about friends, anyway?"

The remark stings and Killua almost hurtles a harsh retort before remembering they're in the same boat, floating in uncharted waters with no lifeline. She had no friends because she was home-schooled and Killua had no friends because it wasn't good for business—not real friends anyway.

"Tell Knuckle thanks for me, by the way," he says instead, "someone has to watch out for you when I'm not around."

"I will, but hey! It's your turn; update me on what's been going on with you! I've been talking your ear off."

"There's nothing exciting to update you on," he says.

"Are you sure?" Alluka sounds suspicious.

"Well, there's this guy—" Killua holds the phone away from his ear as a tin-can screech reverberates from the tiny speaker "—are you done?"

"Yes. Please, continue."

"It's nothing serious, but—well, I don't know. He's toying with me, and he's also dating this wealthy guy that's known for taking advantage of young guys here. I'm crazy, aren't I? I should cut my losses now while I'm ahead."

"This isn't a business deal that you have to weigh the pros and cons of. Just ask him what's up."

Killua swings upright and nearly tumbles off the couch. Belatedly, he says, "but that's embarrassing. What if I'm wrong for asking or—"

"If I brought this non-issue up to you, you'd call me an idiot for hesitating in the first place."

"Yeah, but this is different. He said himself that if he's into someone, he goes for it. Like, he just knows, and it happens, and that's that. Nothing of the sort has happened between us, so this has to all be in my head."

Killua wishes it were. It'd be easier to let it go.

"How did you manage to get with all the guys back home?" Alluka asks incredulously.

Those guys had all been different—calculated moves and means to a well-deserved end. He doesn't want that with Gon; he wants something different, something real and yeah, sanity has definitely left the building. 

"All of those hookups were out of spite or for business. I—I don't know how approach this in a way that isn't . . ."

"Manipulative?"

"Ugh, yeah, I guess that's the best word for it. I don't want to step on any toes. The guy he's with has a lot of power here, and you know how that goes."

She sighs. "Sure, the situation sounds a little weird, but you shouldn't let that deter you. If anyone is qualified for such a predicament, it's you, so give him a chance. You never—"

A grating melodic trill cuts off Alluka's voice, and Killua swears he'll remember to change that ringtone once he gets off the call. He pulls the phone away, and the name flashing across the screen scrambles him into indecipherable static yet again.

Once the ringing stops, Alluka filters back in. "Are you still there?"

"That's another thing," Killua whispers, barely audible and shaky, "Illumi has been calling me."

Foreboding silence shifts between them. Eventually, Alluka manages a small, "Oh."

"Yeah."

"You haven't answered?"

"Of course not."

"Maybe you should."

"Has he called you?"

"No."

"I'm going to change my number. I should have the moment we left, but I didn't think any of them would want anything to do with us."

"You should answer his call first—hear what he has to say."

"There's no point. Whatever he needs he shouldn't be getting from either of us. He'll realize that eventually."

"I hope so."

+

Killua changes his number and gets a new phone entirely for good measure. Illumi's calls stop coming, which temporarily solves one problem, but not the other.

It's frustrating that, right now, Killua is to Gon what Illumi is to him. He texts Gon from his new number, apologizing for what he said yet again and _yet again_ , he gets no response. It doesn't make any sense. He might be premature in his assumptions, but Gon doesn't seem like the person to ghost someone. Could Gon have already flown off to Kagate, deciding to leave anyone from Port Idalia, and especially the Romance Zone, in the past? Or maybe Gon has gone exclusive with Hisoka and is embarrassed about propositioning Killua. Or maybe he just changed his mind. Or—

" _You can only rely on people to be unreliable_ ," Illumi's favorite words of advice pop into Killua's head, that particular brand of distrust imprinted heavily on his psyche.

Killua considers going to Heroes to find out for sure if Gon is still in town, but he doesn't know what he'd do if he did see Gon there, alive, well, and ignoring his texts. Because that would mean he should have been more careful all along. He could be nothing more than a game to Gon or an exercise of his kindness—an ego boost meant to sustain him during a difficult time, Hisoka being what he wants after all, not someone so cowardly he can only shoot his shot over text. 

" _Humans are_ _nothing more than double-edged swords. If used correctly, you can get anything you want, but you can be used, too. Always keep your guard up, don't be made a fool.'_ "

It wouldn't be the first time this has happened—someone leaving once they've gotten what they wanted. A relationship of any type is transactional, but Killua doubts either of them has gotten what they want.

"Hello, anyone in there? Earth to Killua, do you copy?"

Ikalgo gives Killua a short, weighted glass of whiskey. It's not his favorite, but Illumi had always recommended neat whiskey or scotch during meetings with potential clients because it's appropriate for business. The smooth bite isn't comforting so much as it's familiar and makes him feel like he's in control. The last time he allowed himself an actually tasty drink, he wound up with Range Rover guy and a broken heart.

Killua follows Zushi and Ikalgo to a high table along the half-wall separating the bar area from the main floor speckled with swaying, wrinkled patrons sipping on drinks as a tarnished sailor croons on a rickety, wooden stage. The air swirls thick with cigar smoke and the faint scent of mothballs and stained wood.

"Mr. Wing has terrible taste in bars," Killua shouts over the noise, ribbing Zushi with a smirk in an attempt to distract himself from the poisonous trenches of his thoughts.

"This is a jazz bar. It's a little different, yes, but it can be fun! What did you expect?"

Not this. Apparently, Gon likes jazz, too, but Killua can't imagine him here. Fuck, he's thinking about Gon all over again.

"Something a little less . . . ancient," Ikalgo chimes in, glancing around wearily.

"Fuck you guys," Zushi says with little conviction. "Do you have any better recommendations? And don't say that creepy EDM club in the Romance Zone."

Ikalgo balks. "That's exactly what I was going to suggest. What's wrong with—"

"I don't care where we go," Killua interjects. "I'd just like to be in a crowd that's not full of old people on their weekly trip away from the senior citizen home."

"True, but I don't think senior citizens stay up this late," Ikalgo says.

"It's usually better on the weekend," Zushi admits. "That's when things get exciting with open mic from eight to ten."

"You're the only one that gets the weekends off, and that's because you suck at your job. Ikalgo and I don't have such privileges." Killua downs the rest of his drink, pulling a face. "Even the whiskey tastes dusty. Let's go."

The three of them head down the tilted sidewalk toward the heart of the Romance Zone. With every passing block, more and more people crowd open spaces, the chilling air alive and thriving with intoxicated, wanton energy. Bass-heavy music spills from every door ajar, and the roads are doused in effervescent colors and cloying colognes and perfumes. Bodies knock into them as they pass, predatory men wink from dark alleyways, and club promoters cast their lines, fishing for a catch.

Killua trails behind, wishing, not for the first time, to be as blissed out as everyone else emptying their pockets and minds night after night. He'd never admit it, but the appeal of letting go has crept through life with him since childhood. He wants to forget all about Gon's disappearance and Illumi's insistence—blend into the chaos for a while and be someone new, fearless, and weightless.

The EDM club, Perks, can be heard from blocks away. The rhythmic, unhinged pulsing wobbles all of them upon entry, enough to spark an inkling of interest in Killua. He understands why Ikalgo likes this place; it's deafening in sound and visuals, leaving hardly any room to think.

Zushi looks uncomfortable at first, with his childish demeanor and stiff posture, but a couple of drinks loosen him up enough for his head to bob to and fro like a buoy amid tumultuous waves. And Ikalgo has never looked so confident, coddled in the anonymity of sweating bodies and flashing lights.

Before Killua knows it, he's left alone at the bar, swirling another whiskey and wishing he could bring himself to face the dancefloor. He's not drunk enough for that, but tipsy enough to wish Gon was next to him, egging him along and gifting him with infatuated courage. Gon is more intoxicating to him than any drug or drink, and that's concerning. Killua pockets his phone to keep from scrolling through their text messages.

"Hey, sweetie, what are you doing all by your lonesome?"

An assured hand comes from behind, reaching to brush a tuft of hair away when Killua clasps the offending wrist and whips around. "Do you want to lose a hand tonight?"

The assailant, tall and wiry in frame, be-speckled, and pink in the face, startles and attempts to pull away.

"What?" Killua jeers, "losing your game now that things haven't gone your way? C'mon, go ahead. What other cheap tricks do you have up your sleeve?"

"I'm not—I didn't realize you're a guy," the man stammers, eyes darting around in search of escape. Killua knows the feeling well. "I'm sorry. Let's forget this happened, alright?"

Killua releases his grip and tucks his hair behind his ears. It's getting long if he can be mistaken for a woman; he could probably pull it into a ponytail if he wanted.

"Who says I'm not?" asks Killua, just to watch the guy falter, "you're an idiot if that's how you approach someone. I wouldn't be surprised if you've been decked in the face once or twice."

The man's expression twists, his long, spindly arms forming sharp triangles against his sides. "Just because you're not into it, doesn't mean I haven't pulled my fair share of ladies."

"I feel sorry for them," says someone else, voice light and foreign and the small features of their face even airier. Killua is surprised, and the idiot is even more taken aback by the intrusion than he is. "You're a total knob."

"Mind your business, blondie," the idiot sneers.

"Yeah, no need to play the hero," Killua adds, annoyed.

"I have no interest in being a hero. This is the fifth time this Neanderthal has approached someone in the past hour. It's pathetic and ruining my night."

The idiot puffs up as if he might combust. "Do you even know who you're talking to right now? I'm the number one plastic surgeon in the region, Dr. Leorio Paladiknight."

"Good for you. Keep talking, and you'll be the number one plastic surgeon in the region with a broken nose."

Killua's attention shifts between the two asshats as he skirts away, sipping his whiskey until he's lined up with the other wallflowers too afraid to partake in anything commital. It's quieter if only by a minuscule amount, allowing ample space for sudden doubts. Killua tries to pinpoint Ikalgo and Zushi among the gyrating mass of bodies on the dancefloor. The search for Ikalgo's red-and-white striped T-shirt harkens back to Killua's once tiresome obsession with Where's Waldo. He maintains interest for all of five minutes before his mind wanders into dangerous waters.

Because maybe he's too feminine, and that's why Gon has ghosted him. Like the rest of his family (aside from Milluki who let himself go), Killua has taken after his mother—inherited her refined, delicate frame and effortless grace. Only his hair and eyes resemble his father's, but it's never been enough to transform him into even a finger tip's worth of his father's image. And yet his father had accepted him as long as he delivered results: high-profile mergers, prosperous propositions, and dirty details that could tank the competition.

None of that matters now. All Killua has to offer Gon is a pretty face and disturbing desperation for affection, which doesn't make up for money, status, and the devilish allure that is Hisoka. Hisoka, who now has Gon to add to his collection.

People like Gon are the pitfalls Killua has been taught to avoid because they offer hope where there is none. Yet here Killua is—a casualty of emotions and mostly, a fool. He would forget Gon altogether if he weren't so weak, but Gon is the most exciting thing to happen to him in months—maybe years. He'll take whatever Gon offers, even if that's nothing, but he needs to _know_. Being ghosted by the guy that pursued him first is unacceptable.

Killua returns to the bar, grateful that the idiot and the pretentious blond are gone. He goes to order another whiskey, but thinks better of it and orders a pina colada with an extra shot of rum to cope with the impending dread of laying his heart out on the line; he's already done so to the ear-splitting sound of silence. The sweet slush is aggressive against his tongue as he stares down at his phone, willing words to type themselves. It's too soon to be making demands, but he deserves an explanation. What could he say to warrant a response? 

Soon one drink becomes two, three, and then four. Everything shifts—leisurely, and then all at once. The club, an expansive box of kaleidoscope colors, musky smells, and invasive beats, blurs into a blob of beautiful dissonance by the time Ikalgo and Zushi rescue him from the bar. Killua forgets why he got drunk in the first place. He laughs, giddy and delighted at the world spins, his arms propped up on his friends' shoulders. Inebriated, it's effortless to consider them friends. They're here, literally holding him up; that's what friends do, don't they?

His lips find Ikalgo's cheek and then Zushi's, and he giggles when they trip over themselves, a circus of limbs and clumsy feet. The two humor him as they struggle to stand, swimming in intoxication and the night's thrill. No one pays them any mind. They're no different from anyone else in the Romance Zone, stumbling and drunk on lies, now chock full of life and spilling over onto the beach and the pier that reaches out toward the moon supervising in the distance.

"Let's go to Heroes," Killua finds himself saying, the words sounding strange and far away.

He's coasting on a cresting wave of elation, one that insists now would be the perfect time to find Gon and kiss him until Hisoka is forgotten.

"Heroes?" Ikalgo parrots, eyes wide and shiny. "Isn't that a gay club?"

"Girls go, too," Zushi says, nodding with a solemn face. "Mr. Wing told me so."

"I told you he's a pervert," Killua whisper-shouts, shaking Zushi by the shoulders and nearly sending them all to the ground again. "The more you tell me about him, the more suspicious he gets."

Zushi ignores him. "It's pretty fun if you're drunk enough."

"And we are," Killua affirms, determined and slightly slanted.

"I'll go if you go," Ikalgo slurs, patting his back in support. "I'll be the best wingman you've ever had. Just set your target, aim, and I'll fire."

They march on, oblivious that they're heading the wrong way when a sleek car matches their pace on the cobbled road. The inky back window slides down, smooth and quiet, and an all-too-familiar pale, stoic face leans out into the open air.

"You're a disgraceful mess," Illumi says, unwavering and muted in intonation.

Killua trudges on, assuming his brother's haughty gaze is but a figment of his imagination even when Ikalgo begins to teeter.

"Uh, Kil, I think they're talking to you."

"Yeah," Zushi echoes, halting altogether. "They look angry."

Killua squints over at the car, a pitch-black sedan with a helpless, silver hawk suspended at the mouth, flightless yet domineering in its stature. His brother purses his lips in response to the attention, his liquid hair reflecting the Romance Zone's entrancing lights.

"Is this why you haven't answered my calls? Have you stooped so low so soon?"

"Fuck off," Killua drones, intent on putting one foot in front of the other.

"Get in the car," Illumi orders.

"No, thanks."

The car is not a Range Rover, and Gon isn't in it, so Killua is not interested.

He makes it a few storefronts away, confident in his uneven stride until he's captured by Tsubone's unforgiving hold. She glowers at him, her monocle blinding.

"Don't make a fuss," she warns, pulling him toward the awaiting car, "people are staring. You know that's no good."

There's no fighting once Killua realizes his lack of support. Gotoh bars Zushi and Ikalgo, both enraged, confused, and eons away. Defenseless, Killua allows Tsubone to yank him along and stuff him into the backseat.

Illumi, prim and pristine in luxurious velvet, elicits shivers up Killua's spine. His eyes are cold and distant as he watches Killua lurch forward, the contents of his stomach decorate the floormat before collapsing against the door. Illumi's lips curl in disgust, and he tosses a fluttering handkerchief in Killua's direction.

"I did not expect to find you so piteous and repulsive."

Killua doesn't respond, his throat stuffed with cotton. Tears prick his eyes, his brother's words a grating knife over his already fragile, inebriated ego.

"I wanted better for you. We all did, but you've made your bed as you please, and now you're lying in such filth. Perhaps I should have seen this coming."

The car swings left and then right, throwing Killua forward and back. Gon comes to mind—his terrible driving and the comfort of Bertha's linen seats—and his chest throbs.

"No matter," Illumi dismisses, his voice circling Killua's lolling head, a shark ready to feast. "We will speak tomorrow when you're in a capable state of mind. Though you're utterly hopeless, I anticipate you won't be foolish enough to refuse what I've come to offer."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, i totally started this thinking i basically have porn without plot, but with every chapter I edit, I realize there is actually quite a bit of plot LMAO. silly me...going forward there will be more porn...more plot...and lots of...compromising situations. 
> 
> thanks for reading! :P


	5. Coercing

Thick, aubergine curtains shroud the room in darkness, a mounted TV recites the news, and a rubber mallet pounds away in Killua's head. He swats around for the remote and turns off the clinical chatter—finally, peace and quiet.

That is until he realizes there isn't a TV in his bedroom. His windows are shielded by splintered blinds, not floor-length regal fabric. And his bed, however impressive it's been in comparison to a couch, isn't nearly as comfortably firm as the expansive mattress he lay on now. Swinging his legs over the edge and into the crisp air that petrifies his toes, Killua pats his thighs in search of his phone and is surprised that the dark-wash jeans he wore the night before have been replaced with pajama bottoms. His patterned short-sleeve shirt has also been removed, and a soft, cotton t-shirt hangs off his shoulders instead, a touch too big.

He stalks toward the first door he sees, confused, and hoping he wasn't stupid enough to go home with a stranger last night. The door sticks to its frame, and Killua yanks it back, the blood draining from his face at the sight of Illumi sitting cross-legged at a round breakfast table picking at a decadent fruit salad. Illumi doesn't flinch, focus unwavering as he pushes a chair away from the table with his foot, a silent command. In the corner of the living room, her bulbous nose in a thin book, Tsubone occupies a paisley, upholstered bench.

Killua joins Illumi at the table, perching at the edge of his seat, too afraid to get comfortable. A murky silence ebbs between them. It would be better if he had woken up in a stranger's bed.

"I thought you hated humid beach towns," Killua mutters, wringing his hands under the table's cover.

"I do," says Illumi curtly, refusing to meet his brother's uneasy gaze. "If you had answered your phone, I would not be here."

"I didn't know—"

"Save your lies for someone else. My hair is frizzy and unmanageable, and it is your fault."

It's true. Illumi's usually sleek, pleated hair stands at attention, an army of fried and frazzled troops. Killua bites back a smirk. At the same moment, the night prior oozes back into his conscience, reminding him of the vomit he left in the backseat and the echoing thoughts of Gon, Gon, Gon.

"What do you want?" Killua barks, embarrassment tinging his face.

"First, you should know that this meeting is to stay between us."

"I know."

The punishment his brother would receive if their parents were to find out about his rendezvous with a rejected Zoldyck—the most promising one of the family at that—is no secret. 

Illumi nibbles at star-shaped pineapple. "Second, you are the only person I trust to help me with this matter."

"Sure."

"And third, I have already made arrangements so that you cannot refuse."

Killua huffs. "Naturally. What are you threatening me with this time?"

"It is not a threat, but an incentive because while I am selfless, you are quite selfish and need pushing."

"Choosing my own path in life and standing up for our sister isn't selfish."

Illumi sets his fork down, fingers slotting together to form a dome of disappointment over his plate. "Is that not the very definition of selfishness? What about the family which has provided everything for you? You have taken what you please with no repayment other than your degradation. Be glad you have fled to another continent where the Zoldyck name is not yet known."

"I didn't ask to be born into this family; I don't owe any of you anything."

"You would say that," Illumi sighs, "how is Alluka doing at Yrouis University, by the way? I heard his paintings are stirring up a notable buzz."

Killua grits his teeth. "You're misgendering her on purpose."

"Oh, it must have slipped my mind. But really, I am quite proud of her. At least she is making a name for herself. What are you doing other than moping around a cesspool of lust and drugs?"

Of course, the one night Killua decides to resign himself to dabbling in mindless indulgence, Illumi shows up to gouge his thumb into an already festering wound.

"It's none of your fucking business what I'm up to anymore."

Illumi's sharp eyebrows raise in feigned surprise. "How unbecoming. It is a shame that you are a softer, more beautiful rendition of our father without an ounce of his poise. Still, I believe there is hope for you to carry the Zoldyck legacy. Would you like to redeem yourself?"

The idea of bearing the weight of the Zoldyck name again, of touting manipulations and schmoozing rich, graying men is worse than death. It's dying over and over again, witnessing the selling of your soul for another cash-cow resort or casino along a desert highway. Killua would rather swim in sewage.

"Is that my' incentive' to help you? Really?"

The corner of Illumi's flat lips twitch. "No, but I wanted to offer you the chance. No matter. Here is the true incentive: if you do not help me, consider Alluka's position at Yrouis University terminated. I will also be sure to raise awareness of her incompetence to other schools if need be."

Indignation shoots Killua to his feet, his hands slamming against the table with enough force to jostle Illumi's arms resting against it. "Are you fucking serious? That's a threat, Illumi."

Illumi blinks. 

"I want nothing to do with your bullshit," Killua seethes, his fists balling tight to prevent himself from flipping the fruit platter into Illumi's stupid face. "I'm leaving. Where's my fucking phone?"

"How will you console Alluka when her school bans her from the premises and when her applications to other schools are continually denied? Her first, true taste of freedom ripped away so soon. That is cruel of you."

"It's cruel of _you_."

"Please, sit down."

Tsubone stirs, her pinched mouth and eyes a warning, and the staccato jabs at Killua's temples intensify, as caged with nowhere to go as he is. He collapses against the chair's stiff frame.

"What do I have to do?"

Illumi resumes his breakfast, spearing a feathered strawberry. "Tonight, at the penthouse of this hotel, a dinner party will be hosted by the illustrious owner of nearly the entirety of the Romance Zone here in Port Idalia. This man plans to monopolize a beach stretch that I have been eyeing for months to establish our enterprise in this country.

"This venture is crucial for the family, but I cannot afford to go up against this man's pocket and prestige. Therefore, we must be sneaky in how we take this land. I've done my due diligence, and from what I've heard, this man is involved in an underground trade that investors want no part in. If I can acquire evidence of his participation, it will be easy to swoop in and take what is rightfully mine. You will search for that evidence."

"And how do I do that exactly?"

"I've acquired you a spot as one of the waiters for this evening seeing as you've acquired the skill set, and you're even more apt for this job as this man has a penchant for pretty, young boys. I doubt you'd need to do anything . . . too unseemly. Maybe a flirtation or two."

Killua's skin crawls. He knows exactly who the man in question is. He glares at his older brother.

"You must be really desperate for Silva's approval. What will he say if he were to find out that you blackmailed me into seducing competition for a leg up? It's cheap foul play."

Illumi disregards him. "This underground trading group has a symbol"—with his free hand, Illumi unfolds a piece of paper and slides it across to Killua. It's a black, willowy spider—"that each member sports via tattoo and a ring; most hide their affiliation publicly. An identifying picture of either will be enough to work with."

How hard can it be to snap a picture of a tattoo or ring? Killua has done far worse in the name of business.

"Fine," he concedes sourly. "I'll need my phone back." Tsubone deposits the device on the table. "I'll get you the damn picture, but after this, if you care about me half as much as you've claimed to, then respect my wish to never see your face again."

An infinitesimal streak of emotion mars Illumi's mask before he can catch himself. Quickly, he offers Killua the plate of fruit. "Would you like the rest? I am satisfied."   
  
  
  
\+   
  
  
  
Killua adjusts the stiff cuffs of the white button-up Gotoh brought to him with an apologetic smile. The elevator's mirrored doors reflect a frazzled expression as a melodic ding signals each stacked floor leading up to The Eyre's penthouse suite. The ground wavers beneath him, a nauseating symptom of nerves striking his legs pin-straight.

Illumi had fixed his hair in the mansion of a bathroom an hour before, fighting with fluffy strands falling into his face like a windswept cottontail. Killua had closed his eyes and felt as if he never left home: Illumi gelling back his hairs so that it curled behind his ears and exposed his face. It was if he was being groomed for the fanciful events they once attended in too-tight suits. Illumi had followed him around back then, observing how he reeled in their father's clients and charmed them into prospective investments. During those tedious nights, Killua's sole mission was to make Illumi proud, and the weight of such expectations had been difficult to withstand.

The same suffocating doom clamps down on Killua now; only this time, bitterness fills his heart as he assumes the role of one of the waiters he once paid no mind. He'd be grateful for the change if he weren't starring in another puppet show reined in by Illumi's domineering hand. When he was finally cut loose, he thought running away somewhere like the Romance Zone would be the last place any family would find him. But here he is, coerced into seducing Hisoka the Sleaze—a rich pervert that has the attention of a particular guy he likes.

At least, he reminds himself, there's a small chance Gon might be here. He's going to get an explanation one way or another.

The spotless elevator doors slide open, and Killua draws a pensive breath. Floor-to-ceiling windows expose an expansive sunset, a shimmering symphony of sickly sweet colors on the horizon accompanying the actual symphony trilling lightly from a surround sound system. His dress shoes tap against the glittering marble floor as he heads to the flock of his kind: clean-pressed, aproned, and eager for a purpose. A small woman with big, magenta hair addresses him offhandedly—"My name is Machi, and I'm your boss this evening unless Hisoka says otherwise"—and shoves a plastic-wrapped apron at him. Killua joins the crowd as she continues the recital of rules and regulations that bores everyone into anxious shuffling and rubber-necking.

To the right, a dark leather sectional coils around a floating, steel fireplace, and, to the left, an elegant open kitchen with matching steel appliances glows under a track of spotlights. In the farthest corner, an elevated bar well with rows of floating alcohol offsets the patio's entrance. And beyond the clear-paned patio entrance is a pool, wavering and infinite as it seemingly spills over the edge and reflecting the sun's warm rays. The spaciousness and grandeur are achingly familiar.

"I never get tired of these dinner parties," whispers a washed-up waiter next to Killua. He sounds like he inhales cigarette packs, and the goatee sprouting from his protruding chin begs for a trim. Killua is surprised he showed up to serve food with so much facial hair and that no one has said anything. "This place is sick, isn't it?"

Killua stuffs his hands in the pockets of his slacks and shrugs. "Do you know anything about who's hosting this thing?"

"Hisoka? Hm, well, he's a weird one, that's for sure. I know he likes bubblegum martinis, and he spends most of his time out by the pool by himself."

"Cool, but do you know anything else like—"

"Excuse me, could you not talk while I'm talking? Thanks," snaps Machi, her eyes drilling holes into Killua's head.

The washed-up waiter zips his lips with his fingers. Killua mirrors him with an added eye roll.

The evening unravels slowly as the last glimmers of sunlight disappear. The waiters are ordered to kindle tall candles settled in a neat row down the far-reaching, granite table in the desolate space between the sitting area and kitchen as guests trickle in from the gold-plated elevator. Hisoka is nowhere to be seen. Once the ambient lighting has been set, Killua mills around with a tray of bubbling champagne. People treat him like a walking drink station, blindly reaching for a drink as he passes and having the audacity to be offended when his tray wobbles. Their eyes meet his with indignance until they register his good looks. Then, he's an attractive walking drink station worth considering. He's grown accustomed to the entitlement and disdain hurtled his way as a waiter, but this crowd is different.

He used to be one of them.

One hour stalks by before Hisoka decides to attend his own party, entering through sliding doors stationed near the sitting area's edge. He's out of place in a pantsuit of a spring-time blush, juxtaposing his guests in their cream whites and soft blacks. Killua rushes to the bar for a bubblegum martini, intent on making a good impression earlier in the evening rather than later. He approaches—Hisoka's favorite drink in hand—and is pleased when a flash of surprise graces sharp features.

"My, what a lucky night this is to have my favorite flamingo here, and oh, you know my drink. Are you trying to impress me?"

"I might be," answers Killua quieter than he means.

Hisoka's stature catches him off guard. Though he only stands a few inches taller, his presence is intimidating, and his sordid charm lands differently when Killua can't physically look down on him. Killua attempts a smile, forcing himself to stay put as Hisoka pulls him in for a kiss on the cheek.

"You're off to a great start," Hisoka purrs, his lips brushing along barely-there stubble. It's an unwelcome reminder of the last time they met because this time, the urge to punch Hisoka in the face is lesser, and that's concerning. "It's impressive how stunning you are in a uniform. I'll never tire of it."

"Thank you," Killua manages to say, trying to keep his composure. Hisoka smells sinful, like rum-soaked cedar and toasted vanilla. It's tantalizingly erotic, and Killua will never, ever admit how much it turns him on.

Hisoka leans back, eyes gleaming. "You're awfully demure this evening. Maybe this flamingo isn't as jaunty as I once thought?"

Killua stifles a shudder. How corny.

"Don't get your hopes up. I'm playing nice for now."

"Is that so?" Hisoka sips his martini. "I can't tell which is sweeter. The promise of your bite or this drink."

A couple dressed in a matching palette of ruffles and frills apprehends Hisoka before Killua can respond. Hisoka allows the intrusion but doesn't neglect to turn over his shoulder and wink at Killua before falling into the awaiting crowd, zapping him with unexpected heat. He retreats to the bar to fill his tray with another round of drinks, watching from throngs of guests as Hisoka gravitates further and further out of orbit until he's alone in space, one arm crossed over his chest and the other holding a second, waning bubblegum martini. He's statuesque and divine in his solitude. If Killua didn't know any better, he'd pin him as a reserved man.

He knows better because if given the chance at his own dinner parties, he would hide away, too. But it's a strange matter—Hisoka's withdrawal. He's without a doubt the most important man in Port Idalia, having brought a swarm of tourism and cash flow; he doesn't need to host dinner parties for social upkeep if he's not going to participate in the first place. Unless, of course, all of this is something to do with the underground trading Illumi spoke of. It would warrant investigation if Killua cared, but he doesn't. Hisoka's isolation is merely the perfect advantage for his plan of attack. If what the washed-up waiter said was true, Hisoka will eventually linger outside to the patio, and Killua can strike under the pretense of servitude.

Yet, even when the opportunity presents itself, he delays, busying himself with reviving puffed candles once every seeking hand balances a stemmed glass. Killua knows what needs to be done: seduce Hisoka ("Lull him to sleep with a blowjob, preferably," mutters the detestable part of his brain), and immortalize the spider. It's simple in theory, but when their eyes meet intermittently, he can't deny the attraction, how his body reacts like a moth to a flame.

He blames the ridiculous threesome fantasy. It has elicited many wonderings like what might have happened the night before if he had made it to Heroes after all. Would he have ventured home with a complete stranger or a pair of familiar strangers instead?

It's a shame that Gon has disappeared from the picture. Killua can't pin down what it is about Gon that he can't let go of. Why he's so bitter about having been left in the dust with a provocative picture that he may or may not have jerked off to. It makes him wonder what would Gon think of him if he were to give himself to Hisoka tonight. Would he be jealous if he found out? Would that make Gon text him back?

The possibility piles upon Killua's resolve; joining Hisoka out on the patio will require liquid courage—he needs something to blame for the coiling heat begging for release near the pit of his stomach. After cajoling the bartender into sneaking a couple of shots of whiskey (because this is purely a professional endeavor), he requests a third bubblegum martini and heads out into the night, troubled by the fine line between business and pleasure.

The outside air is sticky and overbearing, a difficult adjustment from the air-conditioning. Killua clears his throat. "Another drink, sir?"

Hisoka turns, splaying his arms over the glass railing and jutting his hips forward. Killua tries and fails in not following the movement.

"You're as attentive as ever," Hisoka jeers, swapping his drink with a knowing grin. Killua flushes, thinking about Bisky's similar observation. "There, now set that tray down and join me for a moment, will you?"

Killua shares his own knowing grin and does as he's told, stationing himself with his arm nearest Hisoka, lined along the glass pane's thin margin just out of reach. As he does so, he accidentally catches a glance at the view of the long drop to the jagged rocks below; his stomach churns.

"Shouldn't the host of his own party be entertaining his guests?" he asks, portraying confidence that the alcohol has yet to deliver.

Hisoka hums. "It looks like they're entertaining themselves just fine."

"Then why invite them in the first place?"

"That's business, baby," Hisoka says flatly, eyes flitting over Killua's figure. He finishes off his drink quickly, setting it on Killua's discarded server tray. "So, tell me, where were you the other night? Gon and I missed you at Heroes."

The scrutiny and mention of that night make Killua flush even more. He must be redder than Hisoka's hair at this point. "What do you mean?"

"Gon invited you, didn't he? Why didn't you come?" Killua mashes his lips together in response and Hisoka walks his fingers forward, bridging the space between them until he can graze leisurely along Killua's forearm. "Don't hold your tongue. Say what you like."

"It's weird," he blurts, skin erupting in goosebumps in the wake of Hisoka's ghosting touch. "What's going on between you two? And why," he pauses, thinking. He doesn't want to assume nor show his hand, but he has to say something. "What do either of you want with me?"

"Oh, Gon hasn't told you?"

The feigned innocence in Hisoka's voice triggers something in Killua that he can't hold back.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Hisoka's eyelashes flutter as he stares at a point just beyond Killua's head.

"Gon hasn't told me what?"

He shrugs.

"Hisoka," Killua says in warning—of what he's not sure.

Hisoka looks down at his nail beds dully.

"Seriously, stop fucking with me," Killua finally snaps, his patience spread thin and definitely showing on his hand.

"If that's what you want."

Hisoka grabs Killua and yanks him forward so suddenly he stumbles over Hisoka's presumably expensive dress shoes. He braces himself from falling into Hisoka completely, hands splayed out over a muscled, broad chest more defined and firm than the last chest he felt up. The comparison continues immediately: how different Hisoka feels under his touch—more menacing in appeal, whereas Gon rendered him soft with longing. That same, heady scent of cologne teases Killua's nose once again. He tries to break away, panic and shameful desire settling in like a fog, but Hisoka secures him in place with a firm grip on his waist. 

"I was afraid I'd scared you off the first time we met," Hisoka mutters, wicked eyes narrowed, "so I sent Gon after you instead. He's sweet, isn't he?"

The tired, thin lines on Hisoka's face can't be concealed by make-up this close, and the warmth radiating from him ensures he is a living being, a person beyond the rumors and borrowed perceptions. He's devastatingly handsome, and the dangerous allure lurking beneath his masterful curation flusters Killua to the bone. He understands now what makes Hisoka interesting, almost irresistible. There's something to be uncovered here—a challenge of sorts. But his detestable attraction to the man isn't enough to stifle the hurt welling inside because apparently, he was the challenge all along. Was _everything_ with Gon all a ploy for Hisoka to get Killua? It's hard to fathom that Gon's kindness was nothing more than a calculated trap. Or does Hisoka mean that they really are swingers? It's a tough pill to swallow either way, but Killua shouldn't be so shocked; he should have known.

All relationships are transactional. If Hisoka was flirting with him so openly at Jaunty Flamingo, he should have seen this coming. Hisoka has been involved all along.

"Now that Gon has left you hanging," Hisoka continues, his voice plummeting, "you've sought me out yourself. I'd be flattered if I didn't already know why you're here."

Killua stills against Hisoka, but he doesn't waver. There's no way Hisoka could know what he's up to, but the possibility is terrifying. If Illumi is willing to threaten Killua with Alluka, who knows what Hisoka, who is loaded with more money and arguably more unhinged, will do. He needs to play it cool.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Hisoka cups his jaw with one hand, sharp nails digging into the soft flesh beneath his ear. Killua's cock twitches agreeably, and he groans as his body runs hot. "Mmm, I like that defiant look in your eyes. Don't worry, I'm not upset. In fact, this couldn't be a better situation for either of us."

"What the hell are you going on about?"

"Don't play dumb now. You thought he'd be here, didn't you? And since you don't see him, you're hoping to taste him on my tongue instead. I don't blame you. Gon is an exquisite treat."

Good, Hisoka isn't onto his true motive. Equal parts relief and confusion wash over Killua along with a small flood of embarrassment. Vaguely, the thought had crossed his mind that Gon might be here, and yes, maybe he wants to careen forward and let Hisoka devour him, but that has nothing to do with Gon and everything to do with his own fucked up interests. Interests that keep welling up within him, unprecedented and unwelcome and more intoxicating for it. The fact that Hisoka thinks he's _that_ desperate for Gon is a little off base, but Killua will play into that narrative if it helps get the job done.

"So, if I kiss you now . . ."

A predatory smirk flowers across Hisoka's face, eyes heavy on Killua's. "Yes, you'd have a fresh taste."

Killua falters, his treacherous heart jolting. He is a little _desperate_ after all, if only for an explanation. "Gon _is_ here?"

"Yes, but he's a little . . . tied up at the moment. Do you want to see him, or do you want to stay right where you are?"

It occurs to Killua that they are a hair's width apart, sharing the same breath while everyone inside, sitting at that ridiculous table, can bear witness to how pathetic he is submitting to Hisoka like this. He probably looks like another needy boy seeking out Hisoka's generous poison—another fly caught in a web. He flushes, and, coming to his senses, stepping back and shielding the bulge in his pants.

"I think it's clear what you want," Hisoka says, glancing down at Killua's hands.

He needs to prioritize what he came for, and maybe at the beginning of the day, the choice would be clear, but he's wrestling between the desire to see Gon and the increasingly demanding need for Hisoka to show him just how perverted he can be under the flimsy guise of completing his mission. One is clearly more important than the other with what's at stake, and maybe it's the alcohol talking at this point, but Killua needs to see Gon again, just to hear what he has to say for himself.

"I should get back to work," Killua whispers, a weak refusal when Hisoka is right; Killua knows exactly what he wants.

Hisoka laughs, not unkindly, saying, "you poor, beautiful thing. I'm your boss. There's no 'getting back to work' unless I say so. Tell me, who do you want more?"

Killua huffs, pressing against his hard-on like he's rubbing a genie's lamp for three wishes. He selfishly hopes for a miracle.

"I don't want to choose. Is it—" Killua hesitates, carefully picking his words "—can I have both of you?"

"Good boy," Hisoka praises, sounding entirely too amused for Killua's liking though it goes straight to his dick. "Was that so hard to admit?"

Killua flushes but plows onward. He wants answers. "This is why you offered to pay for me at Heroes, right? You want this, too."

"I offered because Gon wanted you to come. I can be generous sometimes."

So Hisoka and Gon _are_ swingers? Or is this the kind act of a sugar daddy loaning out his sugar baby? Of course Hisoka's answer would hardly be an answer at all. Killua is terrified and thrilled for what comes next, but he also feels bad for negotiating this with Hisoka only. Gon is going to be a part of this, too, isn't he? Shouldn't he get a say? What if he has changed his mind in all of this, and that's why he ghosted? Is Hisoka going against Gon's wishes? And is it right for Killua to take advantage of the situation just to get answers?

Killua worries at his bottom lip. "What now?"

"Head through the doors near the sitting area. The code is 5575. Be patient and wait for me. Oh, and no touching."

Killua ducks his head and returns to the dinner party, studiously ignoring Machi's piercing gaze. Once he slips through the doors Hisoka spoke of, a labored sigh balloons out of him. He wipes away loose strands of hair from his clammy face as he takes in the lengthy hallway decorated with moody lanterns and a procession of even gloomier doors. Muffled swooning strings and the trilling choir of voices filter in from the party, accenting his bated breath and leaving too much room for the situation's implications to dawn on him.

It's quite simple: this time Killua has truly outdone himself. Curiosity has gotten the best of him, and now he's blurring lines between business and pleasure for selfish reasons. If Illumi could see him now, he'd reconsider offering him the opportunity to reclaim his familial position, and that would serve him right. Killua is going to get the job done however he pleases, as selfish as ever, and Illumi, for once, can't say anything about it—not that he will find out the extent that Killua has gone for these stupid photos. This will be his little secret, his own private surrender to an unerring nature. It's inevitable, really. With how the cards are stacked, there are more consequences if he doesn't follow through. 

Yet Killua also has half a mind to turn around and walk straight to the elevator, leave the Romance Zone behind entirely and start life anew elsewhere. It'd be challenging, and Alluka would have to move back in and probably get a job, but they'd figure it out. It's always been them against the world. The idea is safer, tempting, but so is the sleek number pad on the door at the end of the hallway, promising that he can have his cake and eat it, too.

Killua types in the code—mortification and hungry anticipation shaking his fingers.

The door swings open to reveal a sitting room wrapped in ashen wood vertically paneled with opposing wall-length mirrors. Everything is untouched ivory of the most expensive variety from the circular couch caging in a stone table stacked with pristine books to the frames of abstract line-faces. The air is still and eerily quiet as Killua reflexively tiptoes across to the next room, baited by a door left ajar. Awaiting him is a darkened bedroom, lived in but still grand and echoing the same décor as the sitting room. Plush carpet cushions the soles of his shoes as he steps inside. A California-king bed guarded by aureate bedposts supporting a draping, billowy curtain of thick, white tulle. It demands attention from its post between two bracketing oval windows that peer into the night. They offer just enough light for Killua to feel at ease as he veers to the nearest chest of drawers.

He figures Hisoka will eventually come with Gon in tow. The promise of what's to come makes it difficult for his boner to flag, but if he can find the ring before Hisoka comes for him, he can get the picture and go—leave everything else behind and keep his dignity intact. After this, he'll go to Heroes to see Gon if that means he doesn't have to own up to the way Hisoka has managed to lure him in. He's okay with letting tantalizing fruit hang just out of reach, a figment of his own perversion that–

The bed creaks and Killua flinches, his fingers recoiling from the smooth handle of the drawer. He pivots on his heels to catch a shadow shifting behind the encasing veil. Sure that he'll dissipate entirely and make a clean escape if he holds his breath long enough, he freezes, as still as a statue, as quiet as a thief in the night.

"Hisoka, is that you?"

Killua would know that voice anywhere; he's hopelessly enamored by its tilting tenor and the possibility of such a voice calling his name so desperately.

Gon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah, yes, the moment we've all been waiting for is right around the corner  
> again, thank you all for the lovely comments so far, you've been an immense source of support and encouragement 💓


	6. Courting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy fuck, thank you ALL so much for reading/sharing your thoughts.  
> thank you to foxbears and The_Bad_Side for betaing  
> thank you to pionut for being really fucking sweet & welcoming  
> thank you PenniMorrow for your lovely, thorough comments
> 
> this has been such a blast so far, writing and interacting with the hxh community. 🥺  
> 10/10 would do again haha
> 
> OOHHH also, things get saucy here so there's warnings for: possible dubcon (idk it's all consensual but not explicitly stated so), rough sex, and bondage

"Hisoka?" Gon asks again, quieter and lapsing in confidence.

An odd beat of indignation thrums through Killua. This isn't what he expected when he was told 'no touching.' He was thinking of the similar sentiment shared by Kikyo who swatted his hand for touching the original artworks worth thousands hanging in the halls of their manor. "Don't touch yourself or my expensive belongings," he thought Hisoka had been saying. Now Killua knows he's meant to keep his hands off of Gon.

Gon who thinks Killua is Hisoka. Gon who doesn't know he is here on a mission to seduce Hisoka and obtain blackmail. Gon who ghosted him. Killua didn't think he'd get alone time with Gon so soon; he figured he would have had to navigate the awkward explanation of his arrival with Hisoka in the room. He's more nervous than relieved, but emboldened with whiskey, he strides across the room as if it was his name called, and yanks back the bundles of fabric for a sight that yanks back, pulling his stomach down to his knees and leaving a strange, choked sensation in its place.

Laying naked and vulnerable to the whims of whoever may cast a shadow over his beautiful, battered body is Gon with hands and feet cuffed to each bedpost. His eyes widen, and his lips move, but the sound doesn't register. Killua is too shocked by the abstract band of bruises around Gon's taut neck and other contusions decorating the 'V' of his hips like abstract laurels; the dried come on his chiseled chest and his flaccid cock; the bite marks, red and uncured, peppering his inner thighs and scant lines of forming scabs interspersed. 

"Gon . . . are you— what the hell happened? Did Hisoka do this to you?"

Gon nods, a growing confusion twisting his features.

Killua's immediate thought is to push Hisoka over the patio's edge the first chance he gets, but the longer he looks, the more Gon's face erupts in the same lustful shade of his now growing hard-on. Painfully, he realizes the injuries might have been consensual, and that's a whole other can of worms he'd rather not open because, somehow, despite Gon's suffering, it'd be easier—cleaner—if Killua had an unforgivable reason to hate Hisoka and save the day. But that's not the situation here, so he lets the veil fall between them once more, and the truth of what he has asked for settles in; he's stepping into a foreign arena, a place where people like Hisoka don't fight fair; flagged in mid-fight with no prior knowledge of the rules, Killua is baffled by his own short-sightedness. This isn't solely about the straightforward fulfillment of desire. 

No, Hisoka wants to play games. And what a mean trick Hisoka played, sending Killua here to discover Gon chained and post-orgasm, bruised and torn apart already. Fuck, he's an idiot for letting his stupid, horny brain get the best of him. To think he could have all three wishes fulfilled: Gon, Hisoka and keep Alluka's future safe? He has certainly underestimated Hisoka and also his own curiosities. Sure, he likes sex on the rough side, but this—Gon mauled and bruised like a tiger got ahold of him...Maybe some of the porn he watches isn't as indicative of his real interests as once thought, and perhaps post-nut clarity has a point or two.

Killua returns to a safer route that's solid, simple, and tucked away somewhere, waiting to be found. His heart is pounding, pumping blood and whiskey at an alarming rate. He opens the first drawer of the bureau facing the bed, a profoundly disappointing emptiness greeting him.

"Killua," Gon calls, a mere shadow, "what are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," he shoots back, moving to the second drawer. It slides open easier than the first, just as weightless and without his saving grace. 

"I think it's obvious why I'm here," Gon answers, a tinge of annoyance snapping over Killua's nerves, "can't say the same for you."

"I'm working."

"Working?"

The third drawer: empty.

"Yeah, your sugar daddy is hosting a dinner party right now. You didn't know?"

The fourth, fifth, and sixth: empty.

"No. Hisoka said he'd be back soon. That he was ordering take-out." Gon sounds confused. "He's not my sugar daddy."

"Details," mutters Killua, stalking toward what he assumes to be a closet.

"Hey, wait, where are you going?"

Killua doesn't answer. Upon entry, rows of lights outlining the ceiling show the closet's ominous length, claustrophobic with its barren shelves and dangling, suede hangers. He flies through the illuminated sets of drawers bolted to the walls and peeks under tightly rolled towels snuggled inside white cubbies.

"What's going on?" Gon asks as Killua marches back into the bedroom and rounds a tight corner to what must be the bathroom.

"You're awfully unaware for someone who claims to know what they're getting themselves into," Killua fumes, stepping over a pile of a familiar green flannel and jeans.

Faintly, Gon rebuffs, but Killua can't make out the words. An uncapped cherry-flavored lube bottle and a bulky, silicone cock ring rests lopsided near the fountain sink. Killua's throat constricts tighter than the front of his pants, but he continues, searching with increasing panic for a ring far less interesting.

All cabinets and drawers, assaulted and rummaged, hang open fruitlessly. The ring isn't here—nothing is, and that isn't a good sign. Killua shuts his eyes, dizzy with pursuit, and anchors himself against the counter. Somehow, he's overestimated his assets, and his mind is screeching: "bad deal, bad deal, bad deal!" 

He inhales and accepts that the most straightforward way out is nullified. He exhales and reminds himself that this is what he wants, even if he's a little scared. He's not a coward; he's Killua fucking Zoldyck, and there's nothing scary about a potentially aggressive threesome.

Before Killua can fully commit to the idea, a large hand snakes around the nape of his neck, and his soul leaves his body.

"What are you looking for, darling?" Hisoka's voice strikes venom into Killua, low in its silken drum against the shell of his ear.

"Keys," he soughs immediately, thankful for the quick wits Illumi instilled in him. But he doesn't dare open his eyes for fear that Hisoka may see right through his hot, needy flesh. 

"If I'd known you were coming tonight, I'd have left them here for you to find. You know, releasing my pet would constitute as touching, and I did say no touching, didn't I?"

Killua's throat bobs with the weight of his alleged crime. He had no plans to release Gon, hadn't even considered such a course of action with an option to go a less complicated route within his reach. Still, he nods.

"I figured you'd disobey me."

He licks from the tip of Killua's ear to his earlobe as he tilts Killua's head to the side. It's awful how good it feels, how he sways on his feet with a rush of desire for the man nearly wringing his neck. Hisoka's teeth clamp down, pulling a startled yelp out of him. He meets Hisoka’s wicked gaze in the mirror, glowing with delight as if he's won a fight. Suddenly, a shifting _click_ reverberates against tile, and before Killua can react, Hisoka forces his head down against the counter.

"What the fuck!”

With his hands grasping the edge of the counter, Killua tries to push back against Hisoka, but the cold cut of metal around one wrist startles him. In that moment of hesitation, Hisoka twists his arm back and folds over him, the distinct press of a hard dick against the cleft of his ass. Hisoka is quick to wrestle his other arm behind his back, his grip claw-like against his wrist. Another click confirms Killua’s suspicion: handcuffs. He struggles under Hisoka’s grasp, wondering if that’s what the older man wants. 

"I like when you squirm against me like this," Hisoka moans, rutting against Killua hard enough to crush Killua's groin against the counter.

The pain rivals the victory in being right. He goes easily when Hisoka yanks him upright by the chain linking his hands. They meet again in the mirror, and Killua spits at the image of them, angry and smug all in one. This is just another under-the-table deal, the means of negotiation are as dirty as ever, his spit rolling down the mirror a makeshift handshake. Killua knows what Hisoka wants—a fair match, maybe even one skewed less in his favor. It's a terrible excuse to let loose, to forgo practiced politeness.

"You wanna spit on me, hm?" Hisoka questions with a leering grin. "I might allow it, but for now, I've got another idea in mind. You still want to play, don't you?"

"I do," Killua agrees, 

Hisoka his long fingers through the troughs of gel in Killua's hair, his touch deceptively tender. "You have to behave first. Can you do that? I’ll let you have Gon if you're good enough."

So that's what this is: Killua is being _allowed_ to have Gon. It serves him right, having asked Hisoka if he can have both him and Gon as if that is the only permission he needs which is already fucked up without Hisoka’s twisted interpretation and follow-up. ‘Your wish is my command’—genies are tricky like that. 

The scrape of pointed nails against Killua's scalp elicits shivers down his spine, equally thrilling in terror and sensuality. He leans into it, his cuffed hands finding Hisoka's erection and rubbing for another wish. Hisoka hums, pleased as he watches Killua's reflection, how blue eyes flutter as his hair is released from it's gelled hold.

"Pretty," he murmurs, bringing his other hand around to fiddle with the starched collar of Killua's shirt. "What will it be, little flamingo?

"You don't have to be so rough," answers Killua hotly, his body betraying his irritation at being handled like a rag doll as tingles flutter down his neck at a perfect scratch of Hisoka’s nails. "If you wanted to handcuff me, all you had to do was ask."

"That's no fun, but sure, I’ll humor you. What I have in mind doesn't much involve you anyhow."

Hisoka hooks a finger over the collar, brushing Killua's collarbone. Killua allows himself to be led back to the bedroom, his tryst with Hisoka coming to light in more ways than one. When they were alone, Killua felt he could, for whatever wildly depraved reason, let loose; he'd go as far as to say Hisoka demands it from him. It's a hasty development he has barely realized himself and to now face Gon who baited him just to pull the hook out of the water at the last second is painfully grounding. Killua isn't here to play games.

The veil encasing the bed is parted. Gon turns toward them as they approach, his cheek mushed against the mattress as his eyes take in Killua's disheveled and blotchy appearance.

"Are you okay?" he asks, both of his eyebrows coming together to ask the other what the hell is going on.

"Never been better," Killua retorts dryly.

Gon's eyebrows convene even closer. His attention darts to Hisoka. "Tell me what's going on."

"Well, I'd love to stay and chat," he says, plucking a silver key from his breast pocket and prowling toward the nearest bedpost, "but I've already kept my guests waiting far too long."

"Yeah, about that—"

"Shh." Hisoka presses one finger to Gon's lips. "You trust me, don't you?"

Silent conversation passes between them with an intensity sparking so vibrantly that Killua has to look away. Those same, gut-wrenching clicks of metal and lock bounce around the room as he peers past his erection's obtrusion to his shoes' squared toe. A profound awkwardness settles over him; he feels like he's intruding on something beyond his liking, and it makes his stomach sour. In his fantasy, Hisoka was the outsider, not him. Still, he reminds himself that both Gon and Hisoka want him here for one reason or another, and he's here for a purpose beyond both of them, so it's fine. Whatever is between them is an afterthought he'll save for a time when his body isn't buzzing with arousal and apprehension.

After their mysterious deliberation, Hisoka beckons Killua onto the bed, and he obeys, toeing off his shoes and settling in behind Gon, who sits facing away from him, feet more loosely restrained and hands in his lap, clasped in silver. Killua leans back against the headboard in a daze until Hisoka nudges him to spread his legs wide enough to accommodate Gon. Then Hisoka is pulling him away from the head board and guiding Gon's clasped hands over his head like a scarf. Hisoka then tethers their sets of cuffs together, Killua's restrained hands dangling mid-back and pulling Gon by their connection into his chest to avoid dislocating his arms. Gon's armpits are exposed to the room and Hisoka takes advantage, running a finger through the tufts of hair there and laughing when Gon jerks his arms forward instinctively, nearly dislocating _Killua's_ arms.

"Fuck, Gon, relax," Killua hisses.

Gon huffs, reclining his head back into the crook of Killua's neck. Coarse hair tickles him, tamps down on his frustration while stroking an inadvertant nerve connected to his erection. He can _smell_ Gon—a heady mixture of sweat, sex and the scent of Hisoka's cologne.

"If only you could see yourselves," muses Hisoka, hands on his hips like he's admiring thought-provoking artwork. He disappears into the bathroom and reemerges with the cock ring and lube. "Round two," he sings to Gon.

Killua has a clear view of Hisoka slicking Gon up enough to wedge the device down over the smooth head of his dick like he's looking down at his own body—if it were more tan, muscular, girthy and hairy. Gon is quiet, oddly submissive through the whole thing until a groan not Killua's own reverberate through his chest when Hisoka makes a show of revealing a remote in his hand and pressing one of its buttons. An intrusive buzzing disrupts the room's relative quiet, and Gon's legs jerk at the sudden stimulation around his cock. 

"I'll be going now," Hisoka says with a satisfied sigh and clicks the button on the remote again, the jarring buzz around Gon's stiff cock silenced. The door locks behind him with a mechanical whizz.

The result silence is deafening for its long stretch of five whole seconds before Gon speaks.

"So," he says breathlessly, shifting slightly to the side to look up at Killua the best he can, "want to tell me why we're chained together right now? I'm not complaining," he amends, casual as ever like it's another standard Saturday night in the Romance Zone. For all Killua knows, it might be. "I'm just confused is all."

He had every right to be confused. If him and Hisoka aren't swingers per se, but acting off individual interests, from Gon's perspective it must be strange for Killua to show up in the midst of sexy time with Hisoka. Especially for Killua to then be added into the mix after ghosting him. That's what Killua hopes anyway. As much as he's embarrassed that he has chosen (and without Gon's explicit consent no less) to elevate their relationship to the next level under these circumstances, he hopes Gon feels at least a little guilt for leaving him hanging. 

"I'm confused, too," Killua retorts. "Why didn't you text me back?"

And shit, maybe that's the last thing he should be asking about right now. Gon must think he's obsessive, seeking out his not-sugar daddy and infiltrating his space to get an answer out of Gon. It's inadvertently the case! Killua couldn't have known Gon would be here and that Hisoka would indulge his greed.

Gon shifts again, closer this time so that he's resting more of his weight on Killua. His position looks exceptionally uncomfortable, arms pulled taut back behind his head, body splayed out against Killua's with his legs a wide V; his biceps flutter already, intermittent pulses against Killua's shoulders. Killua is relieved to be the supporting beam even as his neck cramps to meet Gon's eyes. At least he's still clothed and without a remote-controlled cock ring controlled torturing him at Hisoka's whim.

"Wait—didn't you say you were working?"

"It's complicated," Killua answers eventually, noticing a mottling of freckles on Gon's nose. He wants to count them all.

"What's so complicated about a threesome?" Gon asks. 

Killua cringes at the mention of a threesome, as if he's not already in the thick of it, bound to Gon with a front-row ticket to the slope of his naked body as they lay in wait for Hisoka to return. "That's— this isn't—"

"It's okay," Gon interrupts, "I can tell you're shy about these kinds of things, but it's okay to call it what it is."

"What's complicated is my job because I'm serving at Hisoka's dinner party, but—whatever! It doesn't matter, Gon. I'm not shy about these . . . things. I just didn't expect for things to turn out this way. It's okay that I'm here, right? I'm not stepping on any boundaries, am I?"

"Not at all. D'you wanna be here or is Hisoka—"

"—yes," Killua answers quickly, "yes, I want to be here. I know this is a lot since we never—"

"Then prove it," Gon says, lightly head-butting into Killua's neck. "Kiss me. I know you want to."

Killua turns his head away, suddenly nervous. "Hisoka told me not to touch. That's why we're in this position in the first place. He's punishing me."

"We're already touching, aren't we? Besides, Hisoka isn't here to see."

That's true. Hisoka isn't here. It must be Killua's inherent paranoia that makes him feel like Hisoka will somehow find out that he's disobeyed.

"I'm not kissing you until you tell me why you ghosted me," he says resolutely, ignoring Gon's breath fanning over his collarbone. There's no point in delaying the inevitable. He wants this as much as he wishes they could be together under different circumstances, but he needs to know first. "You better have a good excuse."

"Are you mad?"

"Yes, I'm mad! You sent me that stupid picture and hinted at . . . things, only to leave me high and dry. Who does that? Assholes, that's who."

"Well," Gon says, his deep, meandering voice concerningly closer, "I was going to show up at your place after work since you offered, but then Hisoka said I should clean up at his place first. He's got a lot of tricks up his sleeve because one minute he was undoing my boots and the next there were handcuffs, and yeah, we got a little carried away. I've been here since, and um—" a little sigh breaks up Gon's confession "—I think it's obvious we've been playing a little game. I haven't had my phone on me since he undressed me."

Killua would turn to look at Gon—to level him with a well-earned glare—but he can feel the barely-there impression of lips over his pulse replacing the sweep of hair against his neck. He gulps, growing hotter and hotter as whiskey and jealousy settle warm in his veins, Gon's flexed, naked back flush against his clothed chest.

"You're saying that you let Hisoka—pervert megalomaniac Hisoka—handcuff you? _Willingly?_ What about your job?"

"I only work Mondays and Tuesdays," Gon clarifies, breath teasing across Killua's hot skin, "I'm sorry I've made you mad. I don't want you to be mad at me."

"Maybe if you didn't flirt with me and then ghost me because you got distracted by fucking your sugar daddy then maybe I wouldn't be mad. I mean, what the hell, Gon?"

"It's a shitty excuse," he admits, "but that's the truth. It doesn't mean I don't want you any less. Will you still kiss me?"

"I'm unconvinced," Killua says, turning up his nose though his face is tingling, as flushed and plump with blood as his dick. He wonders, vaguely, what parts of his body are sacrificing their blood supply for his arousal.

Gon nuzzles into his neck like a dog in heat, his body twisting with the effort as he says, "I'll make it up to you," and then, after an inhale, "mm, you smell good, Killua."

"You're weird," Killua says accusingly, despite his erection swelling with renewed passion.

"So are you. You wouldn't be in the bed of a 'perverted megalomaniac' if you weren't a little weird like me."

An abrupt, loud pulsing shocks the both of them, and Gon gasps, his mouth pressing open and wet below Killua's jaw as he arches upward. Killua glances down Gon's toned chest, over hollowed abs that jump, to his cock that bobs weakly, rising and growing thick with blood as the fleshy ring around his girth stirs with increasing insistence.

Guiltily, Killua shuffles untilthe beginning swell of Gon's firm ass is nestled perfectly against his erection. He leans his head back and revels in the friction, careful to keep relatively still as if it's a happy accident. But then Gon's biting his jugular vein, and his hips jut forward at the competing pull of pain and pleasure.

"Oh, fuck," Killua pants, wishing he could pull Gon off as his tongue lavings over the sting.

Because Gon doesn't stop there, no, he spreads his tongue up and up until he's pressing sloppy kisses along Killua's jaw. And then he's wriggling against Killua as the vibrator ceases its assault, desperate for friction himself. And he is definitely aware of what's pressing into his lower back. He's probably thriving on Killua shivering beneath him by the instant press of his ass against Killua's dick trapped behind a zipper. Gon makes soft, wanton noises above him and Killua bends his legs and digs his toes into the meat of the mattress for purchase, not too keen on blowing his load so soon.

"Gon," he pleads, sweat at his temples. "W—wait, please."

"Sorry," Gon blurts unconvincingly. He stills, chest heaving and arms shaking as his hands hang limply at the nape of Killua's neck.

"Don't be."

Thankfully, the vibrations stop. They lay there, heavy breath cycling between them, the flood gate of lustful tension smashed open and heady with promise. It's eerily quiet in the wake of the vibrator's brief revival, and its imminent return looms on the horizon, leaving Killua tense, and he's not even the one suffering its fickle charm. He bows his head to the side and grazes his lips through Gon's unruly hair, smelling a nondescript shampoo and sweat. He's comfortable aside from the almost unbearable pressure of Gon's weight on his crotch; maybe in another world, their first time together would be a simple agreement between them and not whatever the hell this is. Killua sighs and the sound pulls Gon out of his own reverie.

"I want to kiss you so bad," he announces, all serious and unyielding.

Killua flushes, despite having no blood supply left for no such things. At this point, he might be braindead because all he can say is, "do it then."

"Make me."

"How unoriginal," Killua quips. "Why do I have to do all of the work?"

Gon laughs and bridges the small space between their lips. Finally giving in to the immense pull of that black hole between them, they meld together seamlessly, a rush of imploring tongues almost immediately despite the awkward angle. Killua isn't sure who escalated it so quickly or if they're merely delirious and in sync, but it's mesmerizing how they move together. Gon is rough against him, the handcuffs clinging behind his back as his lower lip is bitten puffy before Gon licks into his mouth again. Killua can't get enough, and neither can Gon as the contortion of his body makes him shake again—all for a sloppy, heated kiss in Hisoka's bed.

Killua wants so badly to touch Gon, to run his hands over that sun-kissed skin and make him whimper. Already forgotten are all the reasons Killua had conjured as to why any of this was a bad idea. He grinds up against Gon, high-strung and aching. He quickly regrets it, thinking he's somehow done something wrong when Gon pulls away. He tries to work out an apology, but Gon is using their tethered restraints to pull Killua's head forward enough to slip his arms from around Killua's head long enough to scramble his knees, twisting the chain at his feet and behind Killua's back. Once again painfully close to injuring Killua's arms in the process as they're forced to accommodate Gon's movement. Despite Killua's cursing, Gon cries victory with a thrilled bark of laughter. 

"A heads up would have been nice," Killua glowers, not too fond of being carelessly manhandled so many times in a night, but now his arms aren't as tense since Gon can drape his arms further behind Killua's head. 

"Now we can see each other properly," Gon explains, hands sinking down to grasp Killua's. Their handcuffs jingle together noisily.

Killua, treated to another perspective view of Gon's body, runs his gaze over scratches slanted over sculpted shoulders, the gentle dip of his lower back and the swell of his pert, round ass up in the air. His straining cock has nothing to bury into now aside from the barely-there compression of his pants.

"Aren't you uncomfortable bending like that?" he asks as Gon invades his space.

"A little discomfort for pleasure doesn't bother me," he murmurs, his eyes taking that familiar route down to Killua's lips. "Besides, now we can kiss better."

Killua's tongue darts out in anticipation—overwhelmed with the need to feel Gon any way he can. He has already fucked up finding himself here in the first place; he might as well kiss Gon while he has the chance. Who knows what Hisoka might have in store once he returns. Gon having switched their position may provoke Hisoka into another round of 'punishment'. 

Their noses brush and Gon teases him, pulling away just before their lips meet. A low giggle follows, mischevious and taunting, dissolving Killua into a hopeless mess. He's about ready to tell Gon off when Hisoka chooses that moment to activate the vibrator. It's all about Gon's pleasure and fun, clearly, because now he lurches forward, and Killua catches each desperate moan from the source.

It's special torture to be unable to tend to Gon properly; the buzz is maddening in Killua's ears and he can only imagine how Gon feels, bent over with his cock hanging heavy, forced to accept whatever he can get. Killua feels stupid for trying to hold out before, weigh his options, knowing that he could have had Gon however he pleased if he'd been brave enough to jump in. His kisses are apologies now, wet promises that he's all in and ready to give Gon everything if that's what he wants. Hisoka is an afterthought.

At least until Hisoka returns, the vibrations stopping with his entrance. The door clicks shut and Gon breaks away from the kiss, hiding his face in Killua's neck. Hisoka takes in the scene before him, and Killua can't tell if he's pleased or disappointed, only that his expression darkens. Apprehension builds like a leaden ball in Killua's throat as Hisoka gingerly takes off his tailored coat, discards his sleek, salmon-tinted watch on the dresser behind him, and finally, unbuckles the dainty belt around his waist. The reveal of his pale, freckled skin reminds Killua why he's here, and his heart pumps viciously as he maps Hisoka's skin for an eight-limbed inking. Hisoka preens under the attention, crossing to the bed and coming to kneel beside Killua. He towers over him and prods two fingers at his bitten lips.

"Having fun without me, I see. I expected no less from you," Hisoka says to Gon, smoothing a hand down his back. He smiles down at Killua, shakes his head as if he's disappointed. "You encouraged him, didn't you? I was going to let you play a little, but now I think it's best if you watch." He pulls Killua's lower lip down, runs the tips of his fingers over his teeth. "Now suck."

What comes next dawns on Killua right as he opens his mouth. He's not given any time to fully process it before Hisoka is using his fingers like the world's most dexteritous tongue depressor. He nearly retches at the sudden intrusion, straining against the cuffs cutting into the soft flesh of his wrists.

"Sorry," Gon whispers, depositing kisses over where he'd bit along a thick vein, "I didn't mean to get you in trouble, Killua."

When Hisoka's satisfied with the liberal coating, he withdrawals and climbs onto the bed, aligning himself with Gon's bowed form. Killua watches helplessly as Hisoka spreads Gon open, bending down to lick a stripe over his entrance.

Gon shudders and Killua whispers back, "You owe me."

Hisoka glances up at Killua through long, fanning lashes. A domineering smirk unfurls over Hisoka's features.

"Talking during the show? How rude."

He doesn't wait for Killua's response before he's stuffing slicked fingers into Gon, startling a needy groan out of him. 

" _Be fucking careful_ ," snaps Killua, as if he's the one being ruthlessly fingered.

"Oh, Killua," Hisoka coos, his arm twisting in and out, in and out as Gon whines with every push, "Gon likes it; he _begs_ for it."

To accentuate his point, Hisoka clenches a handful of Gon's hair and draws his head back until Gon is straining against the pull, neck taut and veins bulging. Killua looks into those saccharine, sunset eyes with what must be poorly masked horror by the way Gon frowns.

"Tell him you like it, Gon," Hisoka urges, "can't you see he's worried?"

"I like it," assures Gon, voice dripping with contained pleasure. He dares to look a little embarrassed when Killua flinches. "I do like it, Killua. A lot. I—"

Hisoka pushes Gon into the clean linen of Killua's button-up before he can finish what he was saying, his muffled voice going silent. Killua takes a shaky breath as Gon's humid breath penetrates the thin fabric and wets his skin, watching helplessly as Hisoka unzips his fly and unsheathes his cock. It's as intimidating in size as the man is himself. Indignation and shameful arousal wells within him. This isn't the kind of threesome he wanted, but he supposes that's the point.

Killua is meant to wish he were Hisoka in this moment. He's meant to long and pine as much as his cock strains for release, as much as he wishes to sort his jumbled senses straight because he wants to be the one to take Gon apart, but he's not ever sure if he can—not in the way Gon apparently wants. He can't imagine being this rough with Gon even if he wants it—with anyone really. But it does seem so primal, so desperate when Hisoka releases his hold on Gon's head to claw his hands down his back until he's gripping the mounds of Gon's ass and sinking into him in one charged, fluid motion. The force of Hisoka pushing in from tip to base knocks Killua back against the headboard as Gon is driven forward, both of their hands smashed against glossed wood in the process.

Hisoka wants to show Killua who is in charge, who the real winner is here; all Killua can do is accept it, much like Gon taking Hisoka's unrelenting pounding, his face mashed into Killua's chest and shaky hands latching onto the damp strands of hair at his neck as if he might be pummeled into oblivion without Killua there. And maybe that would be the case, but Gon would like that, wouldn't he? That's what he wants—why he's here in Hisoka's bed; why he dances for Hisoka at Heroes and why he let Hisoka distract him from texting Killua back. This is what Gon wants more—Killua just happened to show up and earn what Hisoka must think is his 'generosity'. 

Hisoka stares down at Killua, a ravenous smile eclipsing his focus as he delights in an indignant rage that can't Killua can't conceal. He almost looks like a deranged clown with the make-up, maniacal expression, and vibrant hair falling from its elegant coif. Killua would feel good about that if said creepy clown wasn't inadvertently dominating him and somehow still managing to be so terrifyingly beautiful.

"Killua," Hisoka purrs, smoothing his powerful hands over the red tracks he left along Gon's back, "you're too quiet. Why don't you tell Gon how amazingly he's squeezing around my cock?"

And God, Killua surprisingly hates Hisoka telling him what to do. He had thought, alone and horny in his bedroom, that it'd be hot to be commanded by Hisoka, just not in the blood-curdling way that sparks in him the urge to slap that smugness right off his face. But maybe it's just that—he's far too jealous and angry to succumb to Hisoka's demands.

But, unfortunately, Hisoka has a point; he shouldn't just sit here with his mouth hanging open like a useless tool. But he can't recall a time he's ever been verbal in bed—offering encouragement and praise or anything other than indiscriminate grunts and 'oh, fuck's. It's humiliating to consider, but then Hisoka's hand comes down against Gon's ass with a resounding, sharp smack. Gon moans wetly, and Killua realizes that if anyone should be humiliated, it's Gon. He wasn't expecting Killua here tonight, probably didn't even consider sharing himself with Killua and Hisoka simultaneously (though Hisoka seemed to have that in mind from the start). Yet, he's baring himself for both of them to witness, raw and unabashed, letting pleasure and pain render him an utter, debauched mess.

Killua flushes at the unease quivering in his throat when he says, "you're doing so good. Yeah, like that," he whispers, burning under Hisoka's approving gaze, "push back against him. There you go. So good, Gon."

At the whisper of his name, Gon rears back to capture Killua's lips, sudden and hungry, an unprecedented prize for mediocre dirty talk. The kiss is salty and Killua realizes with an unfound affection that Gon has been crying. He fumbles to keep up; the complete unraveling of Gon Freecss before him is hard to witness purely because he's not the one causing it. Still, he wants to do what he can, take what he can as they're broken apart at random intervals by a particularly harsh thrust or when Hisoka wants to tease and yanks Gon back by the hold on his hair.

Even so, when Gon's lips are against his, undemanding yet adamant, he can pretend it's just the two of them in the world—and that he's not so hard it hurts, so horny he can barely think straight.

It's not long before Gon reaches his orgasm with a breathless cry that Killua laps up in place of his own orgasm. As if to rub Killua's stalled orgasm in ever more, Hisoka follows after Gon with a vulgar, throbbing moan as he paints Gon's back with thick come. Hisoka threads a hand through the hair falling in his face and winks at Killua before unceremoniously slipping out of Gon and disappearing into the bathroom.

In Hisoka's absence, Gon looks up at Killua with glassy eyes and wet lashes clinging together. It's hard to meet his eyes now that Killua the only one still aching for his release, but he doesn't want Gon to feel weird.

"Hey," he greets quietly.

"Hey," Gon parrots, voice wrecked.

"Are you good?"

"Yeah, are you?"

"More or less. I've never wanted to come so bad, though," Killua admits.

Gon looks determined when he says, "I'll take care of you."

"No, you don't have to do that. You're probably exhausted and—"

Gon shuts him up with a kiss. "I am exhausted and also sore, but I don't care. It's only fair."

Killua opens his mouth to protest, but Hisoka comes sashaying back into the room, clinical in his approach when reaching around to unlock their handcuffs.

"Do as you please," he says flippantly. "I'm retiring for the evening."

Killua stiffens, thinking of his mission. "Where are you going?"

"He never stays," Gon supplies.

"That I don't, but," Hisoka says, scooping up his watch, "Killua, you are welcome to stay as long as you promise to come back."

"I haven't even come this time," Killua mutters petulantly. "Why would I want to come back?"

Hisoka throws his jacket over a broad shoulder and hums as if considering the weather. "What a great question. Have you not enjoyed yourself?"

"Hardly."

"Okay, whatever helps you sleep at night," he sings, throwing one last, cursory glance over his shoulder. 

With that, he leaves them again, and Gon is quick to unshackle his feet, pull the cock ring off his softened dick, and settle between Killua's legs. Killua would be elated by his impending orgasm if his primary purpose for enduring Hisoka's chaos hasn't slipped even further through his fingers.

"Does Hisoka sleep in his own room?" he asks, watching as Gon makes quick work of his slacks.

"Yeah, he likes to be alone."

"Oh . . . does he have any tattoos?"

Gon peers up at Killua quizzically. "I don't think so. Why?"

"No reason," he says, heart sinking.

"He does cover the hickeys I give him with make-up, so who knows, he might have a few he wants to hide," Gon adds, trying so hard to be helpful, "I think he prides himself on appearing flawless."

He continues his crusade of fairness, pulling Killua's pants and boxers down to his thighs. His mouth, hot and slick and velvet-ecstasy, slips down Killua's length in one clean swoop, skipping the usual pretense to tease. Killua grunts, eager to root in Gon's thick hair now that his hands are freed. His brain goes fuzzy, and he doesn't mean to thrust up into Gon's mouth, but it happens. Gon gags but doesn't pull off. If anything, he's spurred on, his throat flexing around the swollen tip of Killua's cock as he pushes his nose into pubes furling around the base.

"Holy fuck," Killua moans, feeling spit dribble down his balls.

Gon pulls off messily, dips down to lick the escaping spit back up Killua's length before swallowing him again. His cheeks hollow, lewd slurping filling the room as he extracts Killua's orgasm without mercy. Killua gasps through a silent cry, his whole body curling around Gon and his vacuum of a mouth. Gon swallows without hesitation, tongue lapping over his slit before lifting off with a satisfied smile; he's also kind enough to stop before the sensation is too much. Killua might love him, but that's surely the post-orgasm bliss talking. That's probably the fastest a blowjob has ever made him come. He'd be embarrassed if he hadn't already been holding off for so long.

"Better?" Gon asks sweetly.

"Yes," Killua sighs, abandoning Gon's hair to cup his face in his palm, "thank you."

And then he pulls away and drapes his arm over his eyes, slipping down flat against the mattress, spent and ruined. He doesn't budge as Gon arranges himself next him, slinging an arm over his torso and nearly stuffing his face in Killua's armpit. He probably smells, but Gon doesn't seem to care; the dude is a weirdo for sure. 

"Stay," mumbles Gon, most likely unaware of what one simple word can do to a man.

He says it so easily, as if it means nothing. Something about Gon clinging to him, needing him, feels really good. Killua pulls Gon closer, his nose wrinkling at how their skin sticks together. He's not a cuddler, not even a two-time fucker (he prefers the relative anonymity of one-night stands, though what good has that done him?), but he can be if that means he can stay. 

"Okay, but we should shower," Killua answers belatedly.

"'M too tired."

He sighs, suspecting that he's better off not pushing the matter. He shuffles their tangled bodies under the duvet's warmth, feeling the intoxication of sleep himself as it pulls stubbornly at his eyelids. For a moment, Killua is at peace.

But then the voices start their whispering—Illumi's voice eerily coloring their tone. He isn't here to fall dick over heels for Gon Freecss, though it's clearly too late.

Killua is here for Hisoka.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah so killua was a vanilla ass baby up until this point so...let the debauchery begin 😈  
> also I firmly believe in freckled gon superiority


	7. Baiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, i finally combed through previous chapters to fix formatting, grammar, structure, and also to clean up and specify some plot points/feelings and things of that nature. the edits don't necessarily warrant a reread but it wouldn't hurt either. 🤷🏽
> 
> hope you enjoy, and as always, thank you 😘

It's not even five minutes before the voices in Killua's mind have personified as a panel of shrewd judges gathered around a too-small table, debating over the state of his life as if the fragmentation of his thoughts is better than one streamline. His body begs for sleep, jealous of Gon’s deadweight rendering his arm useless and fuzzy from a lack of blood flow. But the judges keep trodding backward and locking him in shackles of indecision. He can't even assign them to the stupid part of his brain because they’re making valid points.

For one, not only does he have the It Boy of the Romance Zone in bed with him, but they’re both in the bed of the Romance Zone's flamboyant creator himself, and Killua isn’t particularly well-equipped to handle either of them. So, what's more embarrassing: that he's actually going to be the next cute, twink boy to be had by Hisoka or that he thinks he’s got all of this under control? It’s a tough call. 

Two. Hisoka has proven himself too conniving—taunting Killua’s own jealousy in his face, dangling Gon in front of him like he’s a consolation prize, and making it seem like he’d used Gon to get him into bed. Knowing Gon had meant nothing in his ghosting, and that Killua only had to be a little more patient makes Hisoka’s tricks more painful. He should have taken Hisoka by himself and never asked for Gon to be brought into the mix even if this was the inevitable outcome; he's living with the knowledge that he's absolutely corrupt, no better than Hisoka himself. And that's why a small, repressed part of himself is enjoying this despite what's at stake, isn't it? 

Three. Hisoka has expertly woven an intricate web of lies and manipulations to stay at the top of his game, untouchable in all the ways that matter. It takes careful planning to unwrap someone like that; Killua knows from experience and for that reason, he’d walk away if he could. Obtaining blackmail requires meticulous observation and patience, not to mention a lot more time than what has been given. In all other situations where Illumi instructed him to underhandedly acquire what was un-rightfully theirs, he'd always had the upper-hand—money, status, and the Zoldyck name to hide behind—and was given a failsafe exit route if things went sour. This time, he's coming from the shadows armed only with good looks, sex appeal, and no way out. 

It's not a particularly easy position to rest in, and so he doesn't. 

Four. He can gag on Hisoka’s cock all he wants, but that doesn’t guarantee that he’ll find what he’s looking for. If Hisoka likes to sleep alone, how will he sneak a picture of the tattoo if it even exists? And if the bedroom he stays in now is any indicator, Hisoka keeps nothing sentimental or of value around, not in this penthouse at least, so chances of finding the ring are slim. At this rate, Killua’s task is impossible and he hates Illumi for believing in him enough to recruit him.

Killua stares up at the swaths of sheer textile bundled over itself so that it's nearly opaque. The prospect of having to face Alluka’s disappointment looms close on the horizon.

Five. What does Gon think of him, if he even thinks anything at all? This whole situation seems like just another day for Gon whereas Killua is out of his depths (moreso because of Gon himself than Hisoka), sinking further into another unfamiliar mattress. If Killua were Gon, he’d have a lot of questions about his own level of integrity—he’s shown nothing but distrust in Hisoka in addition to the nature of Gon and Hisoka’s relationship. Isn't he wondered what has changed? Killua wants to be honest, absolve himself of his unwarranted attraction to Hisoka by outing his cause, but that would only jeopardize his position. Even if he could be honest, what would he say? 

_"Oh, by the way, my brother has threatened me into doing whatever is necessary to obtain blackmail on Hisoka. But don't worry, I’m enjoying myself in a way that I’d never actually admit out loud.”_

Six. He should text Illumi about the situation. He’s settling for dumb luck at this point if he continues blindly, but that would risk Illumi losing faith in him altogether, and Killua can’t let that happen. Hisoka will give him what he needs one way or another, and Killua is ready for whatever that might entail. Come morning, he can tuck this night and its lessons in the futility of choice and dangers of thrilling men in a neat, little box and know that his selfishness hasn’t been met in vain. 

That’s it. End of conversation. Meeting adjourned. The panel of judges takes a much-needed lunch break, and it's easier for Killua to slip out from under Gon's comforting heat. He winds his arm in a wide circle to regain feeling and heads to the shower in preparation for his mission.

\+ 

It is past midnight when Killua traipses through the sitting room and into the phantom shapes cast along the hallway's dark walls. Water drip-drops over his ears and shoulders and the pretty pink terry cloth robe he nabbed from the hook hanging opposite the shower hangs heavier on one side, his phone cradled in a lone pocket. He knocks on each door. The last one, closest to the entrance leading into the main living area, responds with a nonplussed 'come in.'

The room is a carbon-copy of the locked bedroom from which Killua came, only smaller and with a boring view of the Romance Zone's ever-sprawling vista. More of the same, overrated Matisse paintings hang in understated frames and a candle flickers on the bedside table, dousing the room in a scent commandeering in its bold front of wood and hardly smoothed by a smoky vanilla. Reclining among a mountain of pillows and tucked beneath crisp sheets, is Hisoka with his hair clipped back, a big, flowing gown of t-shirt that hanging off one shoulder. Somehow, this is more of an intrusion of privacy than when Killua discovered Gon earlier; Hisoka isn't dressed as the poised and polished man Killua has come to know, though the sentiment still wades beneath the softer surface; he's almost normal like this, devastatingly beautiful, touchable and all the more dangerous for it. He sets aside a gilded rendition of _Lolita,_ regarding Killua like a tiger prowling in tropical fauna, assessing his prey.

"Can't stay away, can you?"

"You lied," Killua announces.

He advances cautiously, leaning against one of the bedposts. In the dim light, more of Hisoka's arms are exposed—no tattoo in sight. Killua isn't disheartened; there's more skin to explore and that, at least, is exciting. In terms of a challenge, this is far better than any other task Illumi has assigned, and like Hisoka, the allure is wrapped in menacing probabilities. Hisoka is, undoubtedly, his toughest rival yet.

"Did I?" Hisoka probes back, a vague interest flickering at the corner of his mouth. 

"Yeah, you did." 

"What about? I tell so many lies it's hard to keep track. I'm sure you understand." 

Killua tenses at the implication. Had Hisoka not bought his lie about searching the drawers for the handcuff keys? It doesn’t matter. His best bet is to deny, deny, deny until his face turns blue.

“You said you sent Gon after me, but I don't think you did." 

Hisoka folds his arms behind his head and regards Killua with a placating smile. "What makes you say that?" 

"You said it yourself, you're built on lies. It's obvious you just wanted to get under my skin," he says, though the lie had definitely survived its purpose at the time.

"It takes one to know one, doesn't it?" Killua cocks his head questioningly, maintaining an air of pointed innocence. "A liar," clarifies Hisoka. "I've been generous tonight, having given you something you're too cowardly to claim for yourself, so I think it's only fair that you tell me why you're really here, _Killua_." 

The way Hisoka says his name like an accusation cranks Killua's internal temperature to boiling. And for Hisoka to imply that he’s too cowardly to pursue Gon? What the hell does he know? Has Gon complained to him about or is he recklessly pawing at Killua's wounds just to see what lands the harshest blow? 

“Sure, after you tell me what you think you know.” 

Hisoka’s smile turns wry. "I asked first, but if you insist. I’ll enjoy the guilty look on your face either way.” He folds his fingers together, putting on a contemplative expression as he looks off into the distance. “Last night, one of my most loyal servers fell ill," he recounts dramatically, 'and the next morning, your name came quickly upon recommendation from a friend of a friend of a friend. Is this ringing any bells so far?" 

Killua doesn't dare respond and incriminate himself, but a distinct, stomach-churning feeling grows within—the feeling that he's been had all along. 

Hisoka carries on. "This friend of a friend of a friend then books room 742"—the room Killua left Illumi and his butlers in—"at this very hotel— _my hotel—_ under the name Gotoh and orders my most peculiar and expensive bottle of whiskey. I’ve only known one other person aside from myself to enjoy such a drink, so I knew right away exactly who occupies that room. He's not exactly being subtle.” 

Illumi said he had conducted research, not that he _knew_ Hisoka. Killua would know if he had been lying, wouldn’t he? That was the whole reason Killua once spearheaded most Zoldyck business meetings and events—he’s the better liar. Hisoka is pleased with himself, as if he knows exactly what Killua is thinking, an all-too-familiar deranged glint in his eyes as he worms a foot close enough to nudge Killua's thigh. Killua flinches, and he laughs.

"Ah, there it is," he croons. "You’ve been caught. I knew who you were the moment I laid eyes on you. I was only waiting for the punchline, and now here we are. Your brother is truly a piece of work sending you to do his dirty work. Lucky for him, I'm in the mood for a little filth. How about you? I've heard the rumors . . . I doubt you'll be able to handle me." 

"Shut up," Killua hisses, overflowing with a fire that burns too close to home. "Whatever you think you know is bullshit." 

Hisoka purses his lips. "Hm, why don’t you help me sort out what I know then? Your family disowned you and your dear sister on accounts of treachery and defamation. Now you show up in my part of town and involve yourself with my new pet. Then your brother slyly suggests I hire you this evening and buys a room at my hotel for a night. What part of this is bullshit exactly?” 

A rushed picture book of possible escape routes filter through Killua's mind, but all of them would confirm Hisoka’s suspicions. The only option is to keep going forward and sell Hisoka on parts of the truth. Killua is starting to wonder, though, why Illumi has left such an obvious bread trail; he makes no mistakes; there must be a purpose.

"If you're so suspicious of my intentions, why hire me?" Killua asks lowly. "Why let me get so close?"

"Aside from the delicious opportunity to ruin you, it’s simple, really,” Hisoka says, tracking Killua’s slow ascent toward him, allowing him even closer, and smiling when Killua settles in his lap. He shivers when cool hands slide up his thighs and beneath the fluffy robe. “I needed you to confirm my suspicions. If I let you have Gon and you stay with him, then perhaps I'd have reconsidered. If I let you have Gon and you still come and find me, then that’s another. Do you see?” 

Fuck. Killua has shown his hand without meaning to. He has to cover himself somehow.

“When I said I want both of you, I meant that, and technically, I didn’t get either,” he counters, genuinely affronted and glad for it. What had happened between them earlier wasn’t at all what he had hoped for and it's reason enough for him to be here now. “I figured I may not get the chance to see you again, so here I am.” 

"Maybe. Perhaps you're an unwitting distraction, planted because your brother knows what a cockslut you are, but there’s something else amiss," Hisoka says, moving his hands over Killua’s hips, along his ribs, and over his shoulders until the robe falls away, “what could Illumi possibly be after so bad as to need your help?” 

"I don’t know what he’s after," answers Killua coolly though his pride is burning to a crisp at being called a cockslut. He sits motionless as Hisoka drags a fingernail from his clavicle down to his growing erection, too stubborn to show he's affected. “And he wouldn’t ask me for help. That would go against set rules since I’m no longer considered family.”

It’s not technically a lie. It’s more of an unspoken rule that Illumi adheres to unless absolutely necessary.

"Oh, Killua. No one tells you anything, do they?" Hisoka rubs the slit of Killua’s cock, watching for any sign of change in his stony expression. "Illumi has certainly sought out external help before. I just find it hard to believe that he’d send you of all people to me.” Killua clenches his teeth and pretends like the touch doesn’t make him twitch. “Illumi must be desperate,” Hisoka continues, his voice meandering and syrupy, “knowing my tastes well and indulging me. I wonder what he’s holding over your head. Or are you really nothing more than a cockslut? Perhaps it runs in the family, hm?” 

Hisoka knows far too much to be bluffing. That or he’s really that good at getting under people’s skin. It has to be a bit of both because Killua feels too tight. Hisoka is ripping away chunks of flimsy half-truths with sharp, unerring teeth, threatening to reduce Killua to nothing.

“I’m here because I want to be,” he admits, trying to keep his voice even as a string of wetness connects his dick to Hisoka’s departing touch.

His face burns, but he can’t look away as Hisoka breaks the connection to have a taste. Hisoka tastes him, slides his finger out from between his lips with a soft pop that makes Killua dizzy. Hisoka grips his length this time, moving languidly over the head and squeezing at the base. Killua stifles a whimper, but Hisoka is too close not to hear it die a pathetic death in his throat. The unwilling admission of arousal makes Hisoka grin, a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“I remember you saying at our first meeting that if I touched you again, you’d wring my neck. Is that why you’re here? Because I’d quite like to see you try if you’re still interested.”

Killua flusters, a frantic whirlpool of pleasure building with every stroke of Hisoka’s hand. “I’ll do it if that’s what you want.”

“I only want it if you do.”

Without warning, Hisoka latches onto Killua's wrists and drives him backward in one fell swoop, pinning his arms up over his head. Killua blinks, stunned, and struggling to keep up as Hisoka's knee drives between his legs to press firmly against his balls. 

"Oh, what's this?” Hisoka asks, and Killua follows Hisoka's gaze to where his phone has slid out onto the bed. “In case of an emergency perhaps? Or is Illumi already listening in? If so, I suggest we do a video for your dear brother as it’d be much more fascinating than an audio recording." 

“You’re disgusting.”

Killua tries to squirm away, the thought way too off-putting, but sobering. He's here for more than an orgasm, but it seems like an orgasm might be all he gets out of this night. Still, he chances a glance down into the gaping hole of Hisoka’s shirt, sure he’s going to see nothing more than a ripped physique and Hisoka’s giant dick, but there it is: an inconspicuous inked spider at his hip. 

It’s so beautiful Killua could cry. 

A ridiculous idea—no, a _terrible_ idea—follows the discovery, and Killua’s stomach turns itself inside out. _He can’t_. But could he? It may be his only chance.

Would Hisoka be stupid enough to let him keep his phone in the event that they do film something? He’d have to risk sending the video raw. Illumi would have to see more than he’d ever want of his younger brother, but what does Illumi expect? He apparently knows Hisoka, but told Killua a ‘flirtation or two’ would get the job done—did he really think Killua could make it happen so easily? Maybe he’s meant to fail at this, but that doesn’t make sense. Neither does the actuality of making out of here with any evidence at all. The whole scheme has to be some kind of set-up or front. Illumi gave too little information and left too much to be discovered for it not to be.

So what would happen if Killua actually succeeds? Illumi wouldn’t see it coming, much less a video of exactly what Killua had to do to get the job done. It’d serve Illumi right for underestimating him. Fucking asshole. 

“Let’s make a video,” Killua mutters, turning his head when Hisoka leans into him. 

Hisoka releases his grip on Killua’s wrists, sitting back on his heels. He looks genuinely taken aback. “For your brother?” 

“No, you sick fuck. For us. Let’s show Gon and see if he gets jealous.” 

They watch each other, the tension between them taut and ready to snap. Bound by nothing other than the irony of his own words, Killua is unable to move as Hisoka silently deliberates. Hisoka’s bowed lips tick upward, and Killua holds his breath reflexively, hoping he’ll take the bait. 

Hisoka’s hand coming down hard against his face in answer—so quick and sharp that Killua yelps at the impact, stunned until the sting blooms hot over his cheek.

"What the hell was that for?" Killua shouts incredulously, bolting upright.

Hisoka laughs in his face. "Want to wring my neck yet?”

A tempestuous rage thrums through Killua like a freight train and he shoves Hisoka backward. Killua clamps a hand around Hisoka’s neck and climbs back into his lap, both of their erections trapped with only the soft cotton of Hisoka’s shirt separating them. He’s painfully aware that once again, Hisoka has allowed him to do this much, but he doesn’t care; that's the game they're playing. He squeezes his hand experimentally, a rush of gratification spurring him on when Hisoka’s eyes flutter. 

Hisoka looks up at him, golden eyes dark with lust. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

“Stupid, no, but perverted, yes,” he says, squeezing again but hard enough to feel Hisoka’s pulse against his fingers and the low groan that follows.

This feels good—Hisoka underneath him, yearning and almost pliable—and even better when Hisoka smacks his ass with large, unyielding hands. Killua gasps, his cock twitching against Hisoka’s shirt and his heart pounding out a similar tune of desire. 

“Harder,” Hisoka commands, thrusting his erection against Killua's and kneading his ass.

Killua does as he’s told, practically begging with how tightly he’s crushing Hisoka’s neck. He feels in control and out of control all at once, can’t stop himself from smearing his cock against Hisoka’s stomach and rutting into him. It’s a kind of release he never knew he needed, and God, he’s so damn needy right now as Hisoka guides his desperate humping, nails digging into the flesh of his ass. 

“Fuck me,” Killua growls, bringing his other hand to Hisoka’s neck. _Give me what I want._

Hisoka tips his head back, gaze disturbingly reverent as Killua stares down at him with his hands around his throat. He nods, nails breaking Killua's skin with how hard he gropes at his ass. The sting is welcomed, hardly an issue with how much Killua wants to be fucked, so much so he forgets he's only ever bottomed once, which is why it takes more effort than he would like to admit to break out of the spell, to pull his hands away and lean back so that his leaking cock can breathe—so he can breathe as if he’d been cutting off his own air supply.

“Go get the lube,” Hisoka says gruffly, his chest rising and falling to the beat of Killua’s erratic heart. “I left in the other bedroom.”

“Okay.”

Dazed, Killua clambers off of Hisoka and shimmies back into his robe, his body aching to return to the bed. His dick is heavy and sensitive, rubbing against the too-soft fabric of the robe, and he can feel Hisoka’s eyes on him as he leaves. The hallway is just as quiet and desolate as Killua had left it. He returns to the door at the end of the hall quickly, punching in 5-5-7-5 and tiptoeing toward the bed where the lube lay forgotten on the floor. Gon continues to sleep, oblivious and drooling on the arm folded under his head. 

Holding the bottle of lube in hand, clarity filters in like fresh air wiping away the cloying scent of the candle beside Hisoka’s bed still heavy in Killua’s nose. His first time taking dick was with the pretentious son of a rival CEO, a spiteful bathroom rendezvous because Illumi had been breathing down his neck all night, ordering him around like he was another one of their butlers and not his brother. The sex hadn’t been good—too quick, too painful—but the satisfaction of fulfilling his own agenda and Illumi’s questioning gaze as he reappeared from the bathroom thirty minutes later was enough. Things really do change and stay the same all at once.

Killua feels more embarrassed now than satisfied. His body is throbbing with how badly he wants to be fucked when he doesn’t even know if Hisoka agreeing to fuck him means he’s agreed to filming it. Tormented once again with the intoxicating mix of arousal and fear, Killua heads back to Hisoka’s room with clammy hands, and they must be the culprit for the doorknob catching. He tries again, pulse racing, but it doesn’t budge. 

“Hisoka?” Killua calls, sounding as desperate as Gon did when he first found him. 

“Sorry, darling, you were very convincing, but I’m still not sold,” shouts Hisoka through the wood, irritatingly kind. “I’ll be keeping your phone as collateral. It’s nothing personal. You were lovely.”

Killua swears his vision goes blurry with the adrenaline that shoots through him.

“Open the fucking door!” he yells, banging on the door as if his life depends on it. 

He stops his assault when the lube slips from his hand and clatters to the floor. His harsh breathing is almost loud enough to drown out a faint click as the light spilling from the sliver of space between the door and the floor clips into darkness. Killua wishes he’d choked Hisoka unconscious. His fists come down harder. “Hisoka, you bastard. I swear—” 

A hand settles over Killua’s shoulder, a firm tethering, and he half expects to turn around and find Palm, but it’s Machi, unimpressed and slightly exasperated. 

“Please, return to your room. If you wish to speak to Hisoka, wait until morning.” 

“But I—”

Machi shakes her head, a reprimanding glimmer in her eyes. Killua’s words die a painful death, realizing that he’d rather not throw a tantrum in a plush, pink robe with his dick half-hard and a bottle of lube at his feet. He rips away from her and storms back down the hall. She’s hot on his heels, a loyal reinforcement unsatisfied until Killua is begrudgingly folding himself under the duvet with Gon again, who, in a haze of sleep, accepts him like he never left. Machi leaves them bracketed by tunnels of moonlight. 

Killua carefully pries himself out of Gon’s embrace once she's gone, suffocated and hot with anger and humiliation. The feeling of Hisoka’s neck between his hands spins round in his mind like a broken record. 

_‘It’s nothing personal.’_

Yeah, fuck that. 

  
Killua won’t think twice next time. And there will be a next time because tomorrow, he'll have to report his failure to Illumi and worse, beg for mercy, for a second chance to prove himself and keep Alluka out of this mess. Even if Killua is meant to fail for whatever obtuse reason, he’ll come back just to revenge fuck Hisoka into oblivion and force that arrogant dickhead to make him come twice in repayment.

This is personal.

+

Gon Freecs is the first thing Killua sees when he wakes up, his hair a disastrous wreath of near-black and eyes deeply concerned. He shakes Killua again and whines his name with a hoarse voice. 

Killua tries to roll away, back into the solace of sleep where nothing matters other than his next breath, but Gon is just as persistent as he's proven himself to be in their short time knowing each other. He leans over Killua's cowering form and whines again. 

“Killuaaa.” 

"I'm up. I'm up," Killua croaks, rubbing at his eyes with a petulant sigh. 

Gon gives him no time to adjust to reality. "Did you go to Hisoka while I was asleep?" 

There's no accusation in his tone, but he doesn't exactly sound pleased either. Killua flops back onto a too fluffy pillow as if he has been slapped again. That name reminds him of his anger, how he'd been mulling over his next plan of attack before finally sleep took him in.

"Yeah, is that a problem?" 

Gon frowns, adjusting himself so that he's sitting cross-legged and facing Killua. "No, but I had meant to talk to you about—er, about what we did last night. I think we all got carried away in the heat of the moment, and I want to make sure that—" 

"Don't worry about me," Killua says, brushing off Gon's concern. "We all got what we wanted, didn't we?" 

Gon's features pinch like it's taking him a lot of effort to think through everything. "I guess, but also," he pauses, "I'm a little jealous." 

What the hell is Gon talking about? There is no video for him to be jealous of, no details that would leave him on edge. Killua scrubs his hands over his face in a poor attempt to bring himself into an acceptable coherent state. 

"You're . . . jealous?" 

"Yeah, but it's because—um, well, did I not satisfy you?" 

A lightbulb wedged inside Killua’s brain finally flickers to life, and he bolts forward to face Gon properly. "No, wait—I mean yes. You were so good—" Killua cuts himself off and his face does the stupid hot, malfunctioning thing. Both of them recall that same phrase in unison: Killua whispering to Gon that he was doing good taking Hisoka’s massive cock. Gon blushes and Killua has to look elsewhere, but he doesn't get very far. "Everything was great," he mutters, staring holes into Gon's blanketed knee pressing into his side. Just beneath that thick fabric, Gon is naked. Flakes of dried cu are probably still on his back and stomach, along with the blooming bruises and scratches littering his skin. "Hisoka and I just had unfinished business to attend to."

Gon reaches out and traces his fingers along Killua’s right cheek. The imprint of Hisoka’s slap must be there, laying claim to said 'unfinished business'. Killua has been marked, too.

"Do you mean that he paid you to—" 

"God, no," Killua exclaims, batting Gon's hand away. "Not that there's anything wrong with that, but no way. Trust me when I say it's complicated." 

"Okay. You don't regret anything?" 

"Of course not. Do you?" 

"No. Can I ask you a question, though?” 

Killua looks up at Gon in surprise. “I don’t get why you’re asking for permission now.” 

“You’re right,” Gon says, laughing nervously, “but this is a different question because I know that things between you and Hisoka are complicated, but we're simple, right? I mean, things aren't weird now, are they? We're okay?” 

Killua's throat seizes up like he's inhaled an entire dust storm. It’s a heavy question, and Killua wants to say yes, but he can’t with Hisoka in the picture. He’s there, cemented between them no matter how Killua tries to look at it. And now, everything is uncertain with Hisoka aware of Killua’s duplicity and Illumi’s threat rattling over his head like a guillotine in the wind. This has been everything Killua was afraid of, and he still walked into it anyway.

“Yeah,” says Killua when Gon’s unwavering gaze becomes too much to handle, hoping that by saying so it might be true. “We’re simple, but what about you? Is what you have with Hisoka simple or complicated?”

Gon’s face scrunches up, and he sits in thought for a few moments, hands folded in his lap and eyes roaming around the bedsheets in search of an answer. “I think we’re more complicated than I thought,” he admits eventually, glancing up at Killua, “you being here made me realize that.”

Killua doesn’t know exactly what that means, and he’s too afraid to ask. He doesn’t like that his presence altered something between Gon and Hisoka. Coming between them had been a silly idea spurred by jealousy before Killua had so much to lose. Thanks to his brother, Killua has Alluka. Leave it to family to come fuck everything up. And, well, his own selfishness, too. Illumi has a terrible habit of being just as right as Alluka, though his truths leave a taste too bitter in Killua’s mouth; he chose no better person for the job and that makes Killua slightly ashsamed. The night before feels unreal, a fever dream that is definitely best left forgotten in a neat, little box hidden away.

“If I hadn’t come here tonight,” Killua begins, anxious nerves quieting his voice, “things wouldn’t be complicated at all.”

“But you had to, right? For business or something? It’s okay. I’m glad you’re here," Gon reaches out and grabs Killua's hand, thumb rubbing over his knuckles reflexively. "I’ve been waiting to kiss you, you know. I don’t think I’ve ever been so patient.”

It’s crazy that Gon trusts him. And even crazier that he’s so honest. Killua might implode. He doesn’t deserve Gon. 

“Why were you waiting?” Killua asks, almost undetectable.

“I didn’t want to come off like Hisoka. You were really creeped out by him at first.”

Killua snorts. “You did a terrible job.”

Gon throws his head back with ananguished cry. “I know!” he whines, “but I don't think anyone has ever been so suspicious of me. Everyone usually loves me right away."

"I wasn't _really_ suspicious of you," Killua says, the urge to pull away from Gon's touch increasing with every swipe of his thumb. "I was suspicious of Hisoka, which made me question you, too. He's bad news. You must know that."

"I do, and I understand if you don't want to see me because of him. It'll make things more complicated."

That makes Killua angry all over again, but maybe more frustrated and disappointed than anything else. Gon isn't going to choose between them; he wants the best of both worlds, and Killua hates that he understands.

"That's not what I want."

"Me neither."

Gon leans into Killua, kisses him softly once, twice, and the third he's unwinding their hands so that he can hold Killua's face as he throws a leg over him. Killua accepts greedily, tracing every rise and dip of Gon's body and noting when Gon kisses him more fervently. He could stay like this forever, with the morning breath, the calluses on Gon's palms scratching along his jaw and a smile Gon keeps stubbornly trying to kiss away; they should really take a shower, though. But in that small, quiet moment, everything is incredibly simple. It’s just the two of them, unrestrained and willingly lost in one another. 

Afamiliar whirring of a digital lock startles them apart, and Machi steps into the room with ominous, zippered bags draped over her arms. 

"Hisoka has summoned you two for breakfast,” she says, expertly ignoring their panting and reddened faces as she lays the garment bags at Killua’s feet where they peek out from under the sheets. “Please change into these clothes and join him and his guest at the dining table in twenty minutes."


	8. Negotiating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh goodness, this was another toughie. i suspect updates will slow from here on out, but hopefully, the wait is no more than two weeks at most. comments help a ton in kicking my butt into gear, so let me know what ya think, and thank you for giving my baby a chance. if there are any errors, lemme know but I should be combing back through for edits soon anyhow.
> 
> thank you Pionut and The_Bad_Side for betaing

Killua is a _little_ stressed, considering he is riding a wave of frustrations with the flimsiest of surfboards. Lurking beneath the swell is Machi's ominous order, and back onshore, the glow of Gon's attention dims. Killua is the one at the mercy of a vast ocean's ebb and flow, and it shows. His waning smile ripples out as he crashes into the frigid waters of dread, alerting Gon who throws out a lifesaver. They both watch as it falls short. Gon tries again, wrapping his arm around Killua's shrinking frame. 

"Hey, what's wrong?"

The shadow in the waters is the face of doom itself, a shark ready to clamp its jaws at the first sign of weakness. If the shark doesn't get him, there's a tsunami on the horizon with Killua's name written on it. Either way, Killua is screwed, and if he's afraid if he opens his mouth too wide, he may drown.

"Nothing is wrong, but uh, well, whatever you hear during breakfast isn't half as bad as it sounds," he warns. "And if you have any questions, save them for later, okay?"

Gon's unruly brows scrunch together. "Okay?"

Killua pats him dismissively. "Okay. You should shower."

"You're not gonna join me?" 

"I already showered. C'mon, hurry up. Machi said twenty minutes."

It takes some pushing, but eventually, Killua is alone to unzip one of the garment bags with shaky hands. He's thinking of the bruises turning sour on Gon's beautiful skin, of the explanation he's going to mull over for days until Alluka calls him with the bad news, of all the ways he's utterly powerless, and the one time he was in control—hands around Hisoka's throat, towering over a man wealthier than the family he once belonged to. The blouse he's meant to wear is reminiscent of the Jaunty Flamingo uniform but with longer, puffed sleeves, a pirate's Sunday best. He secures each button at a leisurely pace as the Romance Zone comes to life on the other side of the spotless oval windows guarding the bed.

Gon approaches from behind as a faint reflection. His hair is wet against Killua's ear, and his arms are strong as they pull Killua in. 

"Are you sure—"

"Finish that sentence and I'll. . . "Killua hesitates. 

"Go on," urges Gon, his chin resting on Killua's shoulder. "What will you threaten me with this time?"

Those words don't feel pleasant against Killua's ear, but Gon's lips do. Threatening isn't his thing; it's Illumi's. 

"How about you don't finish the sentence, and I kiss you instead?"

Gon's laugh is more of a gust of hot air than anything else, and then he's grabbing Killua's face and pulling his head back to kiss him. Briefly, Killua realizes how uncomfortable Gon must have been in his position last night before turning around to press against him properly and save himself the neck strain.

It's a timeless, motionless. A safe place where Killua is no longer trying to keep his head above water. His eyes slip shut; the feel of Gon beneath his fingertips is warm and sturdy like the ground beneath his feet; can Gon taste his tongue through minty toothpaste?

It's a nice reprieve. Killua almost forgets to be afraid of what's to come, but the subdued, handmade mottling on Gon's neck brings him back to a place where Hisoka and Illumi exist. It's a strange accessory to the white-collar of Gon's more hard-cut and cuffed blouse.

Something must show on Killua's face because Gon says, "I'd wash it all away if I could, but not because I don't like them. It'd just be easier that way, wouldn't it?"

Killua shrugs. "Wish I'd made them is all."

It's true and not true. 

"You can," Gon says, following Killua into the bathroom. "I want you to."

In the mirror still stained with Killua’s dried spit, where Hisoka studied him as if he were a rare mineral to be excavated, pressurized, and shaven into a delicate crystal, Gon now watches as Killua smooths back his hair, intrigued like he’s setting out on an expedition. Killua huffs. He can never get his to lay as beautifully as Illumi can, and his inability isn't only due to a lack of hair gel. His struggle entertains Gon, makes him laugh. He almost smiles, but the corners of his mouth are heavy, and his hair only seems to fluff up with each tuck and tug of his fingers. It's no use.

"Do you know who the guest is?" Gon asks.

"It's my brother."

"How do you know?"

"It's complicated."

"You say everything is complicated."

"You'll see soon enough then I'll be the one saying 'I understand if you don't want to see me anymore,'" Killua says, and then quietly, "and you probably won't."

"You sound so sure."

"It's just a feeling."

Gon pokes Killua in his ribs. "That's my line."

They head down the foreboding hallway, Killua struggling to maintain a convincing amount of ardor as his hand sweats against Gon's warm palm. The sliding door gives way to the haunting emptiness of the sitting room, dining table, and then the meandering stretch of the kitchen, the liveliness of last night's festivities having been swept away with the morning tide. In the middle of opposing rows of velveteen chairs, Illumi sits across from Hisoka with his shiny curtain of black hair draped over a tense shoulder. He doesn't acknowledge the arrival of other humans, picking at yet another elaborate configuration of maimed fruit. But Hisoka does, his movement eerily similar to the first time Killua had encountered him. He's adorned in his usual oddly tasteful, flamboyant garb, and those piercing, sensual eyes of his float down to Gon and Killua's entwined hands. 

The urge to pull away is stronger than Gon's grip, but then Killus sees it—the identical splotches of assaulted skin at Hisoka's neck. Gon and Hisoka are both wearing their handprint collars as if they coordinated. Gon notices, too, and gives him a loaded look. Killua's quick, calescent nature outs him, and he looks away. He's a hypocrite for despising Gon's bruises when he's administered some of his own. A frustrated hypocrite because, from here, Killua can see the makeup on Hisoka's carefully crafted face; he could have covered the bruises if he wanted. The display is intentional, and that makes Killua wonder exactly how much of Hisoka is staged.

Realizing there's little point in prying, Gon makes an indiscernible noise, and then he's bounding toward the table stacked with enough food to feed an army. Among the feast are pancakes eerily similar to Killua's favorite, sunny-side eggs, strips of fatty bacon, bagels and muffins and golden toast, tiny jars of jelly, large bowls of dark, leafy greens, and pillars of dressings and syrups and glittering sauces. 

"Hi, I'm Gon," he says, extending a handshake offer toward Illumi, who looks at his calloused hand as if it were a dead dove.

"Illumi."

Gon's hand stays hovering over the basket of buttered muffins, unmet. Hisoka clears his throat.

"Please, sit and help yourselves." He gestures to the procession of food. "We are discussing rather boring matters of business, so stuff your faces and keep quiet."

Gon looks back at Killua again as if in need of some kind of confirmation to proceed. Killua shrugs as he drags his socked feet across the cold floor. Having been met with no answer, Gon reluctantly takes a seat beside Hisoka. Killua sits next to his brother and folds his fidgety hands in his lap. Between Gon and Hisoka, the elevator and its glimmering promise of escape taunt him from across the room. He could run and no one would stop him. Well, Gon might, but then Hisoka would probably reign him in. And Illumi would find Killua later, no doubt, but at least they would be able to hash things out privately. Here, he's afraid of what may come to light.

"If my memory serves me correctly," says Hisoka to Illumi, "ordering a bottle of my most cherished whiskey means you want to make a deal. What is it that you want, dearest Illumi?"

Eldest brother and not the most eloquent at subliminal communication tucks a strand of hair behind an ear and glares at Killua, a deliberate sign to keep his bratty mouth shut if Hisoka's order wasn't already convincing. A sigh of submission slips out of Killua, drawing Gon's gaze toward him. Killua avoids it, studying the empty plate gleaming up at him instead. Gold crested leaves and etched swirls dance around its edge—fine china for a fine breakfast of inevitable humiliation. He's exhausted by how suddenly his life has flipped and hurtled back into the past. 

"I want you to reconsider my initial rejection of a joint, commercial venture. It was hasty of me to decline such an offer, and I do hope you will forgive such oversight of judgment."

Illumi wants to team up with Hisoka? There's no way Silva would allow such a thing. Killua is too stunned to consider eating. Are they not going to discuss his failures? Gon's attention flits between the three of them, but it's obvious the food in front of him takes a larger piece of the attention pie. His plate is loaded by the time Hisoka hums approvingly, both at Gon's eagerness and Illumi's words.

"Ah, Illumi Zoldyck asking for forgiveness," Hisoka drawls. "What a turn of events."

"Yes, I know it is hard to believe," Illumi says sternly, "but I am serious."

"I prefer you to beg on your knees than grovel during breakfast."

Killua watches Illumi spear dripping kiwi flesh. "I will do no such thing."

"Oh, but Killua will? Remember, you did say the day you'd work with me is the day you'd let me have a taste of the familial forbidden fruit, did you not?"

Hisoka is shameless. And Killua is confused. What the hell is Hisoka implying exactly?

"I remember," grits Illumi.

He sounds defeated, disgusted even; it's so subtle Hisoka and Gon don't pick up on it. Illumi keeps his face skillfully neutral, but Killua knows his brother loathes the idea of a loss—Silva formally disowning Killua being the biggest loss possible. For so long, he has been Illumi's property and subsequent gambling piece. Now that he isn't Illumi's property, it must be easier to lay down his once most prized possession. It must also mean Illumi is withstanding more pressure to perform, to succeed, to conquer. Yet, even though he's forced to get his own hands dirty again, he has managed to lure Killua in to deal with the brunt of the work, as usual. This dynamic is nothing new for them, but the circumstances certainly are if this conversation is what Killua thinks it is. The only person that's gobsmacked by the covetous arrangement is Gon.

And Hisoka is more surprised by Illumi's admission. "You remember, hm? So Killua is your insurance for my compliance?"

There is no sound other than Gon's incredulous chomping of crisp bacon and the click-clack of Machi as she appears from the kitchen, impassive as ever, with a pitcher of orange juice. She rounds the table and fills Killua's glass without asking. He doesn't remember when he downed half the glass.

When Illumi doesn't answer, Hisoka continues.

"You're always so literal, dear Illumi," he says with a dramatic sigh, "I'm not sure why I'm surprised, but perhaps you should have promised such a thing for when Hell freezes over." He slices a stack of triple chocolate pancakes into perfect little squares. "To promise at the expense of your younger brother is rather bold when you know my preferences and your own brother's propensities. We had a lot of fun last night, didn't we, Killua?"

A steady stream of air spews from Illumi's sharp nose. "Let us remain focused."

The elevator shimmers more and more with every passing second, and Killua's plate remains empty though his stomach sloshes with unease, seemingly filled to the brim. Hisoka doesn't seem like the type to stay focused if there's a mini-game he can play along the way. How Killua was going to send an explicit video to Illumi to complete the job is laughable now when just the mention of it has him wishing he could fling himself off the balcony so the ocean can take him under.

"You should be proud, Illumi. Your little brother shows a wealth of promise. Are you sure you wouldn't like to hear about how desperate he was for me to fuck him?"

Killua's face burns at Hisoka's admission, and the teetering balance of amicability falters and sways between the four of them. Gon pauses mid-chew to stare at Killua as if he's insane, which is ridiculous; he's not the one prodding Illumi with lewd remarks, but yes, he's the one that threw a fit when Hisoka shut him out; he can't meet Gon's eyes. In the soft light of morning, Killua is ashamed of his attraction to Hisoka and angry at his provocative manipulations. In the cover of night, Hisoka's charm had been precarious at best, but now his mischievous grin is lethal and uncouth. 

"Whatever happened last night is the least of my concerns," Illumi concludes firmly, his pale, empty face a soft shade of pink.

Hisoka sees through this mask, and he appears close to the elation of orgasm with how suggestively he licks his lips.

"Gon," he summons, waving his pancake-laden fork in the direction of the man entirely too nosy for his own good before taking a bite. Once finished, he asks, "Do you have something you'd like to say?"

Gon's eyes narrow as he sizes up Hisoka, and he takes the bait. Killua braces himself. "Yeah, why the hell are the both of you talking about Killua as if he's not here?"

Illumi blinks, leaning into the table so that he can look past Killua and get a good look at Gon as if he hadn't acknowledged his existence prior. "Who _are_ you? Why are you here?"

The question is an insult, and Gon grips the table, his mouth opening impossibly wide like an indignant cannon, but Killua cuts in, "he's a friend of mine."

Everyone stills. Illumi blinks some more. "A what?"

"A friend."

The most unconvincing of laughs sputters from Illumi's small mouth. "What do you know about friends? The ones you have had were bought."

In the distance, Hisoka murmurs, "oh?"

"The same goes for you," Killua sneers, reflexively turning to Illumi, unable to curb his own attack, "you don't know anything outside of your convoluted sense of familial obligation, so shut up with your boring bullshit already." 

It's minuscule, but Illumi rears his head back as if slapped; Killua knows the feeling and can still feel its traces.

"Stop pretending like you are any different," Illumi rebuffs calmly. "You speak of familial obligation as if that is not your driving force as well, and as such, it would be in your best interest to tread lightly lest your selfish tendencies ruin the last bit of family you have left."

A plate clatters into the stone sink, punctuating Illumi's words with the vigor they'd been missing. All eyes turn to Machi, whose face erupts a shade brighter than her hair. "I am so sorry. Please, continue."

Hisoka's answering smile is more of a grimace, and Killua wonders what punishment Machi will incur. He feels bad for her but is thankful for the untimely interruption—Illumi's words sting, and he needs a moment to recover _lest_ he elbow his brother in the face and call it an accident. 

"What the fuck is going on," asks Gon, catapulting himself into the resulting silence.

Killua isn't so thankful anymore now that Gon has taken advantage. His efforts come from a good place, but neither Illumi nor Hisoka will indulge him; he looks stupid—another reckless mistake for Illumi to throw in Killua's face later. For sanity's sake, Killua needs Gon to learn when to leave things alone. He can't deal with Gon _and_ Alluka being hard-headed, so he kicks in the stupid idiot's direction and is satisfied with the impact until Hisoka jolts instead of Gon. Then it's not so satisfying and much more mortifying. Hisoka raises an eyebrow at him, provocation swirling in his eyes that makes Killua flush worse than Machi. 

Gon's eyes questioningly follow the accidental transaction. "Is anyone going to say anything?" he prompts harshly.

Illumi continues, unfazed as if Gon is a fly buzzing in the background, "Anyhow, now that I have made good on my end, I want to join you in your next conquest, Hisoka. I will fund fifty percent of your next investment if you funnel forty percent of the revenue back to me."

Hisoka drowns his remaining pancakes in more syrup, the tilt of his wrist daunting in leisure, his tone nonplussed. "What makes you think I need your money? I've erected an empire just like your family has, so I don't have to depend on anyone."

"What more can I offer you?"

"Seriously—"

Hisoka speaks over Gon's indignant whine, his predatory gaze locking onto Killua.

"That's easy. Give me Killua for thirty days."

_Give_? What is he, a prostitute?

Gon's fork clatters against the table. He's equally as concerned. "What the fuck, Hisoka?"

Gon is witnessing Killua's own brother barter him for a business deal—it's embarrassing. Killua wishes to melt away like the trail of maple syrup pooling uselessly at the edge of Hisoka's plate. 

"Fine. That fits into the agreement Killua and I have made."

No, that is not the agreement they've made at all, but if this keeps Illumi from pulling his strings and fucking Alluka over, then what can Killua do? Being Hisoka's new pet for a while won't be that bad. They do have unfinished business together, and Killua is desperate to find a way to break Hisoka. Everyone has a limit. Illumi's was always extreme misbehavior; how far can Hisoka's be? 

This is what Killua tries to tell himself anyway. It'll be fun—a new challenge.

"So much for being disowned. It seems you still have a master, little flamingo, but don't worry; I'll treat you well," purrs Hisoka, casting Killua a wink. "I am curious about this arrangement, though. What is it that Illumi is holding over you? "

"Nothing," Killua murmurs, meeting Gon's eyes again and silently begging him to shut the fuck up when his mouth drops open.

"I was sure you were out for blackmail, but it looks like you're the one being blackmailed. The Zoldyck family is so cruel," muses Hisoka with a disappointed shake of his head.

Gon is livid now, his fork and knife squeaking painfully against porcelain as he decimates a sausage patty and shoves it into his mouth. Is he upset about not getting to speak or the truth of Killua's involvement with Hisoka? He hopes Gon believes him about it not being a big deal. This isn't Killua's first rodeo, though it's admittedly the first time he's explicitly been asked to provide company in exchange for a business deal. Hisoka may be a perverted menace, but at least he is easy on the eyes, and he's got a nice, big… 

Killua derails that train of thought. 

"No crueler than you," Illumi quips. "Do not be too obnoxious about this arrangement. The Zoldyck name is not common knowledge here, but it would be best to avoid any rumors or conflicts of interest until everything is settled. "

A.K.A daddy can't find out about my treacherous business practices.

Killua snorts. Despite the tension in the room, he's feeling lighter with the possibility of another chance. He won't have to beg after all.

Hisoka props his strong chin in an open palm. "Of course, Illumi. I can be very discreet when need be."

"Would you allow me these thirty days to negotiate with you on the terms of the deal?"

As Illumi speaks, Gon's sturdy grip finds Killua's knee, a probing question of its own smoothing along polyester fibers. Gon offers him a comforting smile though the tilt isn't quite right—Killua can tell anger still courses below the surface; Gon is trying to be supportive. It's well-meaning, but it feels like pity, and that makes Killua's blood boil. He's not a victim here if he likes what he has to do. Yeah, the blackmailing sucks, but it's not like he hasn't come to terms with it. And maybe now he'll be off the hook for obtaining evidence; Illumi must have a new, easier plan hidden in the shadows. He hates that he feels inclined to trust his brother, but Illumi has never steered him in the wrong direction before—wrong in the sense of fulfilling their goals. Killua returns a half-hearted smile for Gon's sake because, from his perspective, this situation looks awful even with a grain of salt. He can't fault him for his anger or attempt at sympathy.

"Well," Hisoka fiddles with his artfully tousled hair, panckaes hardly eaten "you've certainly piqued my interest, Illumi. You know exactly what makes my heart sing. Pimping out your little brother for residual money has to be my favorite thing you've done."

Those words petrify the breakfast club for an indiscernible moment. Then, Illumi is speaking.

"I am no pimp," he says, fighting for persuasion—who he's trying to persuade, no one can be sure. "Accept my offer, and let's be done with this. I have important affairs to settle at home."

"I'm sure you do," Hisoka relents with a tiresome sigh. "I accept your terms but don't think you've gotten your way so easily. There are always hidden clauses in the most thorough of contracts. I hope your lawyers are ready."

"I know," Illumi says, his chair scraping loudly against the marble. The fruit platter before him remains mostly intact, and he doesn't even give Killua a cursory glance when he pushes the plate in his direction. "Goodbye, Hisoka."

"Bye, darling," Hisoka returns, mirth coloring his dark tenor. 

Killua darts to his feet, and Gon's hand falls away. "Can I speak with you, Illu?"

He nods, eyes a tiny fraction larger at the usage of an old nickname, and Hisoka laughs, answering, "You may."

"I wasn't asking you," snaps Killua before joining his brother in the elevator. Two pairs of possessive eyes follow his retreating figure. 

Killua follows Illumi back to room 742. Once they're alone (aside from Gotoh and Tsubone assuming their standby positions), Killua lets him have it.

"What the actual fuck are you doing, Illumi? You set me up to fail only to prolong everything."

Illumi perches on the arm of the russet leather couch with his arms crossed. "I have given you an extension. You should be thanking me for my mercy."

"Are you kidding? This whole thing has been a ploy for you to make amends with that asshole. Don't tell me you actually intend to work with him. Silva would never allow it."

"You are still referring to father by his name? Holding a grudge does you no good," Illumi notes.

"Whatever. Just tell me if I was actually supposed to get the evidence you wanted. I had to—" Killua halts, thinking of Hisoka's hands on him, his hands on Hisoka, "The tattoo is on his fucking hip, Illumi."

"I suppose the ring wasn't there?"

"His penthouse is a skeleton of a home. There's _nothing_ there."

"Perhaps you did not look hard enough."

"I barely had a chance. The whole operation is impossible to pull off in one night, especially considering you left such an obvious bread trail."

"Everything is going as planned," Illumi says resolutely. "Trust me."

And now that he's being demanded to trust, Killua is spiteful. He laughs bitterly. 

"Why would I trust you when you're threatening to ruin everything I've worked so hard for? I've given up everything for Alluka to have a better life."

"That was your reckless decision, and a natural consequence of that is the potentiality for that so-called 'hard work' to be in vain. If you do not want that to be the case, stop questioning me and accept the opportunity to redeem yourself. You now have thirty days to get what we need."

From their respective corners, Tsubone and Gotoh look away when Killua tries to gauge what they're thinking. He doesn't know what he was expecting; they're as impartial as ever.

"How?" he asks eventually. "Hisoka is still suspicious of both of us. He allowed me to get so close, only to shut me out and hold my phone hostage at the last minute. I doubt he's going to let his guard down." 

"It is a good thing that he took your phone."

"Is that part of the plan or something? Did you know he would do that?" Now that Killua thinks about it, Hisoka might have taken Gon's phone, too. "You sure know a lot about Hisoka." Illumi doesn't offer a response. Killua keeps his voice calm. "He told me you two know each other by the way, so there's no point in lying about it."

"I did not specify what kind of research I have conducted or when."

"It's still a lie of omission. What's the point?"

"Lies are an essential part of business, Kil, you know this. And anyhow, you are no longer privy to any familial information that does not concern you."

"Hisoka will tell me."

The words leave Killua's mouth too fast, and embarrassment floods over him. He sounds like a petulant child playing the "he said, she said" game with estranged parents.

"Perhaps he will, but he lies, too, Killua. Moving forward, please keep your guard up."

_You keep_ your _guard up,_ Killua wants to say, but instead, says, "It doesn't matter how many lies Hisoka tells. If you want me to succeed, I need to know _something._ "

Illumi stares at him for a beat too long. Killua spins on his heel to head for the door, muttering curses when Illumi gives in.

"You are on the same course as before," he announces, "I have merely bought you time. As for me, I do not intend to work with that selfish, arrogant man. The acquisition of the beachfront property will be on hold as I pretend to negotiate with my lawyers. Meanwhile, I have bugged your phone. When Hisoka hacked into your phone this morning, a virus was planted that gives me full access to his files. Either I find adequate blackmail or you do, so I suggest you succeed this time because there is no other option that you will find as favorable. That is all you need to know."

+

When Killua returns to Hisoka's penthouse, a strained rift has birthed in his absence, and Hisoka is nowhere to be found. Machi is busy cleaning away the mostly uneaten breakfast, and Gon occupies a small portion of the winding, leather sectional, arms squeezing his knees to his chest like he might explode if he were to let go.

"Hey," Killua says wearily, his own storm of emotions set aside. "Are you okay?"

"Never better," Gon retorts bitterly. "Your phone is there on that table. Hisoka said he'd contact you soon."

He stab his finger toward a tiny, twisting display table upholding the too-large, swirling vase that someone had bumped into and almost sent crashing the night before. Killua's phone lay precariously balancing at the edge. Standing in front of the elevator and hearing the faint melodic dings as it descends, Killua falters before grabbing the device and looking back to Gon.

What happened while he was gone? He has only known Gon to be a ray of sunshine breaking through the harsh realities of Romance Zone life. It's not like Killua purposely mantled Gon upon a pedestal, but it's disturbing to see him so upset. The tumultuous waves of thick, foreboding energy knock him speechless.

Gon rises to his feet in an abrupt flash of movement that startles Killua, and with him comes a duffel bag that must be filled with their discarded clothes. "Let's go. I'm taking you home."

There is no room for protest by the tone of Gon's voice, so Killua presses the orbital, clear button on the wall near the table and vase, calling for the elevator's return. He steps aside so Gon can stomp past, feeling off-kilter but too afraid to pry, the hesitation reminding him of how little they know each other. Once they're a few floors away, Gon decompresses, leaning back against the mirrored walls and looking to Killua.

"Hisoka said you can't be trusted."

Killua tries to remain neutral. "What did he say exactly?" 

"He implied I fell into your trap by pursuing you. That you planned to try and use me to get to him." The shock Killua can't hide spurs Gon on. "I know. That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Did he seriously think I would believe him?"

Killua gulps, an unpleasant assortment of gut reactions pummeling him against the wall next to Gon. He looks away. "Why don't you believe him?"

Gon scoffs. "You wouldn't do that."

He says it so confidently like he's known Killua his whole life when the actual amount of time they've spent in each other's presence probably doesn't amount to more than a day. Gon doesn't know Hisoka spun a similar lie that successfully ensnared Killua long enough for him to question Gon's intentions. Gon doesn't know that Killua used him and the promise of jealousy to rope Hisoka into filming a sex tape. He doesn't know all the ways in which Killua has used people to get his way—wielded the same lies and manipulations and false promises. The thought of himself and Hisoka being more similar than different makes him queasy as the elevator subtly bobs to and fro during its lightning descent.

"He sees the worst in people," Gon mutters in response to Killua's impregnable silence. "I don't blame him, but it's rude to push that perspective onto other people."

The elevator lets out into the lobby, and the unforgiving brightness of midday shimmers through the towering glass panes. A bellhop escorts a pair of older women with flashy, jangling wrists, tropical-patterned sarongs, and hawk eyes. It's an accident that Killua meets their ogling gazes. He's not sure who he dislikes more: the actual residents of the Romance Zone or the entitled tourists that swoop in and prance around like everything the light touches is theirs. Sure, maybe every towering, sparkly thing is designed to make everyone feel that way, but to actually believe it and think that applies to people, too? It's pathetic, and Killua scowls at them until Gon's previous words punch him in the gut; he shouldn't be quick to judge.

Bertha waits for them in the parking garage. It's a relief to see something so average and lackluster after a weekend reminiscent of everything Killua wants to leave behind. He's buckling his seatbelt when an aggressive undercurrent shifts Gon toward Killua, quick and unforgiving as the ocean. "What is your brother blackmailing you with, Killua?"

"Do we have to talk about this now? I'm over the gritty details, honestly. I want to go home and lay in my own bed."

"Well, I'm not over the gritty fucking details. Your brother is blackmailing you to what—sleep with Hisoka? That's fucked up, Killua. I can't let you put this conversation off."

"Sleeping with Hisoka is _my_ decision," Killua clarifies. It's too shameful for Gon to think Killua was completely forced; it would change the meaning of everything that happened the night before. "And it's an _agreement,_ not blackmail. That's it." 

"I'm going to need more of an explanation than that. I'm involved in this, too, you know."

"No, you're not," Killua shoots back, buzzing with the frustrations he'd been biting back all morning. "None of this has anything to do with you. Hisoka just wanted an audience for the fucked up show he wanted to put on."

"I'm involved with both of you! I don't understand how I'm _not_ a part of this. I just—" Gon sighs, knuckles white and curling viciously over the worn steering wheel. "This is too complicated for me. I don't know what to do—what to feel."

"Oh, no, _poor Gon Freecs_ ," Killua mocks. " _Now_ you don't know what to feel? After you willingly got involved with Hisoka of all fucking people and offered a stranger a ride home _twice_? After you invite me to Heroes and offered for Hisoka to pay for me? You still haven't explained what the fuck that was about, _by the way_ , but you want to complain about complicated?"

"I'm not complaining! This is a lot more than what I signed up for, and I have a right to be upset about it. That's all."

Killua rubs his temples to soothe the irate pounding between his ears. He takes a slow, trembling breath.

"It's a lot for me, too, jackass," he mutters eventually. "Get over yourself."

"Yeah, but—"

Logically, Killua knows Gon has been blindsided by this situation and that he's probably just expressing how he feels, but he can't stop. "I'm the one in a tough spot here."

"I know, but—"

"No one is asking you to stay and be a part of anything. No one asked you to give me a fucking ride home, either." 

"I kn—"

" _You_ can walk away from all of this, so go ahead if you're so upset about it."

Gon huffs. "Why would I walk away and leave you to deal with this alone?" 

"Because it's none of your concern!" Killua shouts, the sharpness of it even startling himself. "This was never meant to be something for you to worry about. I don't need your pity."

They sit in relative silence, the air conditioner blowing loud, not nearly enough to cool either of them down. Sweat beads along Killua's hairline. Out of the corner of his eye, Gon's jaw tenses over and over, his fingers clutching and releasing, his leg jittering so hard the car rocks with it. 

The need to apologize comes quicker than expected though Killua isn't sure what to apologize for first. Gon getting trapped in all of this is his fault for taking Hisoka's bait. And even though it's Hisoka's fault for Gon finding out like this, it could have been avoided if he'd come clean in the beginning. Considering the new terms of his 'agreement' with Illumi, Gon would have found out eventually, but there was no way for Killua to know any of this would happen. It all funnels back to the pinnacle moment of choice where Killua should have picked Hisoka only. That would have been futile anyway since Hisoka suspected ill intent from the beginning. Maybe there's nothing worthwhile to apologize for. It'd be an empty surrender and an insult.

"There's got to be something we can do to get you out of this," Gon resolves, somehow unbothered by all that Killua has said. 

Again, he reaches out for Killua, rubs over his thigh—up and down, up and down; he squeezes tense muscle. The touch stings more than soothes, and Killua can't keep the bite out of his words because there's no room for Gon to play the hero; he's an idiot to think there's such a role in this situation. 

"There's nothing _we_ can do. You don't get it, do you? Hisoka is arguably the wealthiest man here, and my family has resources and connections nearly everywhere. Port Idalia and the Romance Zone are the next frontiers for my family, and Illumi will go to extreme lengths to please them. You're a stripper, and I'm a waiter. What the fuck are we supposed to do, exactly?"

"I'm not a stripper," corrects Gon, somehow dismissing everything else Killua had said yet again, but maybe that's him admitting Killua is right. "I am a stripper _technically_ , but I prefer to be called a nightclub dancer."

Killua rolls his eyes and curls against the car door. The plastic interior is sweltering through the thin fabric of his shirt, but he's too stubborn to move away. "Whatever, Gon. You're the only one that wants to get me out of this."

"You're saying you're okay with what's going on?"

"I've accepted the reality of my situation, yes. You should, too, and walk away while you still can."

"It's too late for that, Killua," Gon says, sounding irritated. He removes his hand. "You lied to me instead of giving me a heads up on the situation. I understand why you did—you were trying to protect me, but that wasn't fair to me."

"I know it wasn't fair to lie, but, fuck, I was trying to do the right thing and keep this is as simple as possible."

"How can any of this be simple if you're seeing Hisoka, too? Would we all be in a happy polyamorous relationship and leave it at that?" 

That's a valid point. Killua doesn't know what to say other than, "It was supposed to be a one-time thing. I didn't know my brother would agree to let Hisoka . . . have me for thirty days."

"I get that, but it's not fair that the only choices I get in the matter are to accept everything as it is or walk away." Killua doesn't like the hurt in Gon's voice, threaded in thick with the anger. 

It's silent between them again as Bertha begins to rattle and wheeze from the exertion of the air conditioning's shitty fucking job. Killua feels the same way—one idle moment too long from a complete meltdown. His hand instinctively grabs the door handle, and his legs shift, ready to run.

Gon isn't having any of that, though. He grabs Killua's arm and yanks him back. "Hey, I'm not running away. Neither are you."

"You're going to regret this," Killua mumbles, cracking open the door. Shame is cresting over the anger in massive waves. He can barely stand for Gon to touch him anymore. "I don't want to be a regret, so let go."

"No." Gon pulls Killua in, leaning over the console and enveloping him in too-hot arms. "I have no regrets. You trust me, right?"

It's just a hug, but it feels more like Gon has stabbed Killua in the chest, plucked out his heart, and every passing second is another sharp twist and tug as Gon wrings it dry. Trust. It's a funny thing to ask of someone that struggles to trust anyone. Whatever Gon thinks he's doing by staying hurts—it physically hurts, and yeah, it might be due to the hot, fat, ugly tears Killua is keeping at bay, but still.

He burrows into Gon's shoulder, stifling a pathetic whimper. The aggravation between them dissolves into painful emotions that keep them holding onto each other long enough for Bertha to actually cool down the sweltering interior. Killua hadn't known what to expect this morning—couldn't even begin to wonder what Gon might say or do in response to the truth. But it never would have been this. It's like Gon is an endless well of good intention. Killua doesn't deserve it. He really doesn't deserve Gon.

Because trusting Gon is a choice with strings attached. They might not be visible yet, but Killua knows to expect them sooner or later. Every choice he's made thus far hasn't been the right one, but the consequences are inevitably the same regardless of choice. So does it matter if he trusts Gon or not? He suspects Gon won't leave either way—the stubborn asshole. And just like Illumi, Hisoka and everyone else on the planet, Gon has to have a breaking point, too. Knowing Killua, he'll get there quickly enough, and then what?

"Killua?" Gon leans back, and Killua blinks away the wetness brimming at his lash line.

"I trust you," he mutters, the words are a distressing submission. 

"Good, we'll figure this out together then. You and me," Gon sticks out his pinky with the softest smile Killua has ever seen.

"What?"

Gon wags his pinky in response. Killua obliges, watching wearily as Gon shakes their interlocked pinkies. This isn't a lifesaver Gon is offering, but an offer to tread water with Killua—together. It's a foreign feeling, one that pulls uncomfortably at his insides. Again, Gon has no idea what he's getting himself into, but frankly, Killua doesn't know much himself. He might come to regret not pushing harder, but Gon is the first person to willingly and happily crowd in closer at the first sign of trouble. That's the kind of confidence that can get you hurt, but maybe Killua can keep the hurt to a minimum. This way, they just might make it to shore in one piece.

"You and me," Killua agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nsfw killugon art inspired by ch. 6 from the lovely Pionut: https://twitter.com/pnut_art/status/1309891747481346048?s=21  
> anonymous nsfw hisokillu art inspired by ch. 7: https://drive.google.com/file/d/17GysIVuJ3WfXPINEX9Oeu0X4doysLaQM/view?usp=sharing


	9. Whispering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff and fun ensue. hope the wait was worth it~ enjoy :3

Old Man Joe's gruff shouting is the soundtrack to Killua's ritualistic grooming since the tiny window situated above the shower wall doesn't close all the way. He hates shaving, but today, it's a welcomed return to familiarity. So, too, is the water that rushes through the walls when the upstairs neighbor flushes their toilet as well as car horns bleering at dawn and the smell of stale carpet that never entirely recedes.

There are perks of his past life to miss: the Range Rover, the butlers, and no second thoughts about indulging in the latest streetwear just because, but these things Killua had to pay for with his sanity rather than his once unlimited credit card. Spending the weekend wrapped up in the thrall of two rich men's chess game has enlightened him to the simple pleasures of life once again. The first week of his freedom had been a similar epiphany that quickly faded as he filled out job applications in the midst of picking up furniture near dumpsters and riding the bus that sometimes smells like piss. Alluka had taken the harsh realities of their situation in stride, often providing the sunshine to otherwise dreary situations.

Today, Killua is looking forward to taking the bus. Gon had texted earlier asking if he wanted a ride to work, to which he declined just as he declined the quiet question in Gon's eyes the day before as they sat in the parking lot with Killua holding his clothes from Gon's duffel bag in his lap. 'You and me,' they'd said, but what really did that mean? Was he now expected to want rides to and from work, for Gon to come over and stay the night, wake up early in the mornings and cook him breakfast? 

The razor glides over his shin, a practiced angle and speed to avoid nicks. 'You and me' had felt immensely potent on the way home with Gon's wide palm against his own, the rough skin at the base of each finger proof of Gon's nature. He enjoys clinging to cliffs, risking it all for that small moment of victory. Was this whole situation with Hisoka just another route for Gon to climb—an obstacle to overcome? He rinses each leg under lukewarm water, now baby's-bottom-smooth. He trusts Gon; he said as much and he meant it—that he'd try anyway. It's not like he has much to consider, the only thing on the line when it comes to Gon is Killua's own developing feelings. The stakes aren't that high; there's no considering family or business or social status anymore; it's just feelings, and they don't mean much in the grand scheme of things, yet Killua has been thinking about Gon since he slept alone in his bed last night.

At first, he was having a great time: the sheets weren't super soft; they were scratchy, and the bed creaked with Killua's weight, but oh, God, it was amazing to be sleeping in his own bed again. But none of his pillows were as great to cuddle with as Gon. They couldn't cuddle him back; they hadn't arms to wrap around him; no heat to give and no drool to spill on his chest; they couldn't pull him in with sleepy eyes after he slipped out of bed in the middle of the night. Alone in bed, wishing he had invited Gon inside, feelings felt important. Very important. Much more important than lust because Killua had wanted Gon beside him just to be there. Sleeping beside someone is nice—what could Hisoka's reason be for wanting to sleep alone all the time? Was he that paranoid?

The wispy ends of his hair barely tickle his shoulders, but Killua pulls it back into a low ponytail so he won't have to endure Bisky's nagging. He situates the dreaded beret on his head and makes a face in the mirror. It feels odd to go about regular life after all that has occurred. It's only been a day, but his phone weighs heavy in his mind—almost heavier than when he'd thought Gon had been ghosting him. Hisoka is patient; he is not. How long will Hisoka have him waiting? Or worse, what if Hisoka slams another door in his face and never reaches out at all? These possibilities, the uncertainty of his certain feelings for Gon and the unknowns of reciprocation have him on edge.

The bus is late, which makes Killua more nervous than he already is. Bisky understands the public transport struggle, but her moods are fickle, and Killua can't risk getting written up again. He keeps a vice-grip on the rim of the plastic seat so he isn't jostled around too much. The ride is extra bumpy today, threatening to dislodge the granola bar he scarfed down on his way out the door. He would have woken up on time if he'd not been tossing and turning, missing Gon's presence beside him. He would have woken up extra early if he'd followed the advice from the stupid part of his brain and invited Gon inside, probably to a breakfast spread he could actually enjoy—maybe even a blowjob or two.

He's an idiot for passing up such an opportunity. Now that he essentially _belongs_ to Hisoka for the next thirty days, anything could happen. Hisoka could ban him from seeing Gon, and beyond that, there's a time limit that he hadn't considered when rushing upstairs without Gon in tow. 'You and me,' they said—a flimsy promise, but a promise nonetheless, one without many specifications. Considering Gon's reputation and the rumor mill, he should have ample funds to fly across the pond and start that pilgrimage for his deceased dad. There's no way Gon would postpone that trip for someone he met only a week ago, so Killua should be capitalizing on what he _does_ have, not hiding away because he's afraid of his own feelings. He gets off the bus and weaves through a thin line of tourists, ready for his shift to be over already.

It's late in the afternoon, and the Romance Zone's liveliness is amping up. Late-night street food vendors set up their trolleys and tents; vacationing couples and gaggles of friends can be heard down at the beach; bars are opening their doors and blasting their signature tunes. All of the familiar sights, sounds, and smells—no Bertha in the deserted parking lot on the way to Jaunty Flamingo. By the time Killua gets to work, he's perspiring from the cocoon of his coat and the late summer sun. He's hanging the coat on one of the hooks near dry storage when Palm shuffles in behind him. Pretending his headphones are still blaring to avoid conversation, Killua pats at the sweat on his face until one of them is ripped from his ear. With it goes his temper, so Killua takes a deep breath before turning to offer Palm the most forced smile he can muster. 

"Yes, Palm?"

She glowers at him, the dark rim of coal liner around her bugging eyes, making it look like Halloween came early. "Now I know why you sharked Hisoka's table."

That name will make Killua shudder for the rest of his life probably. He cocks his head. "Huh?"

"Don't act like you don't know. Everyone saw you getting felt up by Hisoka at the dinner party on Saturday."

Fuck. Palm's words are a bucket of jagged ice. Killua's blood runs cold. He remembers all of the eyes on him when he went back inside from the patio, but he didn't think it would be anything to gossip about. Service workers in the Romance Zone really have nothing better to do with their time. He opens his mouth to deny, deny, deny but stops. If everyone is talking about it, he will look stupid trying to save face. It's better to roll with punches.

"Oh, that," he says coolly, "he's not exactly the kind of man you say no to. He was flirting with me, and I went along with it."

"And you also went along to his private quarters and disappeared for the rest of the night. Everyone saw that, too."

Does no one know how to mind their own fucking business? Killua's face heats up, but he's not going to give Palm any satisfaction. "Are you so worried about my sex life because you don't have one of your own? I understand you're trying to live vicariously, but you've picked the wrong person for that."

Palm looks on the verge of murder.

"You little shit," she says, voice teetering, "You’ll be lucky if Bisky doesn’t fire you. She hates two-timing servers."

"I think I can manage, but I appreciate your concern."

Killua speeds through the kitchen without a glance back. Palm is probably the one that fanned the flames and told Bisky in the first place, hoping she could get him fired. The worst part is that if Palm knows, everyone knows, which means Killua is going to be hearing about his own exploits for the unforeseen future. He'd be concerned if Illumi's plan was to _actually_ do business with Hisoka. The 'don't be obnoxious about the arrangement' request has been bulldozed by the Romance Zone grapevine seemingly overnight. Swiping a bar apron from the clean laundry pile, he avoids any eye contact on his way to the manager's office; it's in his best interest to deal with Bisky at the start of the shift; she may already be waiting for his arrival.

Sure enough, she's milling around the office, wearing her signature pigtails and pink sailor's dress. Killua hardly gets out a 'hello, Bisky' before she snatches him as if she were plucking a fish from a stream, the heavy steel door slamming behind them.

"You sly dog," she exclaims, shaking him by the shoulders, "I knew you were eyeing Hisoka that day! I'm glad you took my advice, but don't you dare think about quitting just because you've got a sugar daddy. Tell me everything!"

"This is _not_ professional. You're my manager!"

"Hah! You're one to talk. You boned your other sexy, older boss! Did you fuck on a pile of money?" she asks, pushing Killua into a swiveling chair with a maniacal grin. "Spill it or you're fired."

"This is a gross abuse of power. You should be ashamed."

"I bet it's not as gross as what Hisoka did behind closed doors. I've heard things about his bedroom habits," she says, wriggling her brows.

"Bedroom habits? Sure it's not your own wishful thinking?"

"You should know," Bisky bites back, calculating in her gaze. "You're the one that slept with him."

There's a hungry yearning in the pit of Killua's stomach just thinking about everything they didn't do. That reverent look in Hisoka's eyes when he was choking the life out of him haunts around in the degenerate corners of his mind just as much as the desperate, blissed-out expression Gon wore as Hisoka pounded into him. It looks like he's going to have to assume the role of Hisoka's new pet publically; he just wishes the boning part of the rumors were correct. 

"We didn't do anything," he says emphatically when Bisky kicks the leg of the chair. "I swear we didn't. I wish we did, but no. It's uh," he pauses, trying not to sum up everything to 'complicated.' Gon doesn't like complicated, and honestly, he doesn't either. "We're, uh, taking things . . . slow?"

"Slow? That's boring and highly unlikely. If that’s what he told you, you’re in for a rude awakening."

"You're right," Killua says, gauging Bisky's reaction. "I think he has some tricks up his sleeve that I'm not entirely prepared for. Mind sharing what you know?"

"Promise me you're not quitting to go work for him."

"Fine. I promise."

Bisky narrows her eyes, watching him for a moment before sighing.

"Alright, well, I don't know how accurate my sources are, but apparently he’s a bit of a voyeur. I heard there are hidden cameras set up in his penthouse and yacht. Then there’s the tiny skirt thing, the nipple clamps, the foot fetish, and, oh, the possessiveness. If you’re his sugar baby, boys say that you can only be with him unless he approves. And sometimes, he chooses someone _for you_."

Killua keeps his face neutral, but inside he's reeling. Would he be permitted to be with Gon or would Hisoka ask him to walk away? Or were they already approved when Hisoka offered to pay for Killua at Heroes? And were there hidden cameras in the bedroom Gon and he stayed in? Was Hisoka watching the whole time? Did he see Killua get ready to come to him in the middle of the night and the walk of shame back? He feels violated just thinking about it, but an ingenious idea also sprouts in his mind that may give him the upper hand.

"That's all?" he asks sarcastically.

Bisky shakes her head, lips pursed. "You're in for a wild ride, kiddo."

"If I'm a kiddo, then what does that make you, an old hag?"

"Get out of my office."

"Gladly, but only if you tell everyone to keep their mouths shut. It's not good for business to have everyone gossiping," Killua says, patting Bisky's shoulder on the way out and nearly getting his arm yanked out of its socket in the process. 

He steers away from the office and toward the bar where Ikalgo is leaning at the back entrance, munching on a butterflied shrimp. His face lights up at the sight of his favorite bar trainee. Killua goes for a nonchalant head nod, but Ikalgo is having none of that.

"Oh my God, dude, what the fuck!"

"Dude," Killua echoes with a laugh.

"Dude!" Ikalgo says again, following Killua into the bar. "If everyone wasn't talking about what happened Saturday night, I would have thought you died! First, you get in the car with this rude weirdo, and then you don't answer any of my texts!"

"Chill," Killua says, fumbling to tie the apron strings behind his back. "I'm alive, aren't I?"

"You are, but— oh, no, bro, you're not going to keep me in the dark on this, too, are you?"

"Bingo."

Ikalgo had so many questions regarding the Gon situation, and Killua has dodged every one of them. Mostly because he didn't have any adequate reasoning for his decisions besides how insanely attractive Gon is. Now, he has a good defense with the whole Hisoka thing that he can't tell anyone about. The world is so cruel sometimes.

"I respect your privacy, man, but like, no one else does." Ikalgo looks out at the empty dining room, the lull between lunch and dinner leaving everyone available for juicy co-worker gossip. "Are you good?"

"I'm good," Killua assures. "Nothing they're saying is totally untrue."

"So," Ikalgo drawls, watching suspiciously as Killua takes a handful of chocolate strawberries, "you _are_ seeing Hisoka— _and_ that Gon guy?"

"Yeah, wait—are people talking about me and Gon, too?"

“No,” Ikalgo says sheepishly, “I just assumed.”

Killua punches him. “You did that on purpose, asshole.”

"Sorry! I won’t tell anyone, but like, does that mean you're all seeing each other—together?"

"I think so,” Killua admits with a sigh. "Maybe . . . I don't really know yet."

"Like sister-wives?"

"No, because sister-wives don't sleep with each other, I don't think. And we're men, so."

"Brother-husbands?"

Killua grimaces and pushes Ikalgo away. "I don't think we're far enough along for any of that. Let's focus on work, yeah?"

"You never want to work when you're back here."

"I do today. Humor me. I had a long weekend."

"I heard."

"Shut up!"

Zushi rounds the corner before Ikalgo can sling back a rebuttal, pointing an accusing finger at Killua immediately.

"You!"

Killua frowns. "Me?"

"Him?" Ikalgo echoes helpfully.

"Yes! Did that creepy man that picked you up Friday night blackmail you into getting involved with Hisoka?!"

Wow, spot on. Killua shakes his head. "No, why would something so ridiculous happen?"

"I don't know," Zushi says incredulously. "Why else would you . . ."

Killua flips through the cocktail recipe book. He's gotten most of them down already. "Look, I was quick to judge, okay? Hisoka isn't _that_ sleazy. He's hot, honestly."

The disbelief on Zushi's face makes Ikalgo dissolve into stifled snickering, but Killua can relate; he can hardly believe it himself. 

"Are you kidding?” Zushi’s arms are flailing. “You give me shit for hanging out with my karate teacher because he's older, but look at you! You’re with the guy that stared at your ass every time you walked away from the table."

Killua turns up his nose. "I'm not in denial about my relationship with an older man."

"There's nothing to deny!"

Ikalgo sighs, draping himself on the bar counter. "Isn't it unfair, Zushi? Pretty guys like Killua get to have all the fun. He's seeing that popular guy from Heroes, too."

Zushi's eyes go wide. " _Really?"_

"Dude," Killua says, glaring at Ikalgo. "What happened to respecting my privacy?"

"He'd find out anyway! Zushi knows everything."

"That is true," Zushi confirms solemnly. "It's because I'm invisible, so everyone spills their secrets around me. Around me! Not even _to me_!"

"Oh, yeah?" challenges Ikalgo. "Well, Bisky literally came back here and took two shots of tequila once! I was like, right next to her, and she didn't even notice."

"Hey," Killua interjects, putting his hands up between them, "tell me now if you’re both just figments of my imagination. Go ahead, it’s okay. I can take it."

Ikalgo smacks him. "Fuck you."

"Yeah, fuck you," Zushi cries.

"Ooo, I'm going to tell Mr. Wing what a dirty mouth you have, Zushi,” Killua chides, wagging his finger in Zushi’s face. “Will your punishment be of the martial arts kind or _something else_?" 

Zushi rears his hand back to join in on the smackage, but a scraggly man with a pulled-cotton beard down to the navel collapses into one of the bar stools crowded around them and saves Killua's poor arms from further assault. They disperse like flies, Killua returning to flipping through the bar book to skim over the few recipes he hasn't nailed yet while Ikalgo greets the man. Now a solitary island, Killua glances around the restaurant again and immediately regrets it when Palm and some of the other servers he hardly talks to giggle in his direction with knowing eyes.

It's going to be a long shift.

+

Day three of thirty. Killua hasn't heard anything from Hisoka, but Gon has the night off and insists on picking him up from work so they can hang out. It’s a needed distraction because Hisoka’s radio silence has him riled up for all the wrong reasons. Killua assumes Gon will be waiting in his regular spot, but no, he waltzes in through the double doors of Jaunty Flamingo five minutes to close like he owns the place. Killua sees him first from his vantage point at the bar, and his heart seizes all functioning. Those have to be the tightest shorts he's ever seen a man wear, and the slinky, white tank top he's got on is practically see-through. Gon's brown, perky nipples are two bullseyes beneath the thin fabric and the bruises left from his time with Hisoka have barely faded. Killua averts his parched gaze and ignores Ikalgo jabbing him in the side.

"Isn't that—"

"Hey, Killua!"

Killua glances up casually as if his internal body temperature hasn't ramped up to a dangerous level. "Oh, hey."

"Hey," Gon repeats gleefully, a crooked smile on his face as he leans over the counter and drops the most casual of kisses onto Killua's lips. Ikalgo wolf-whistles, and Gon rocks back onto his heels, bashfully running a hand through his thick, messy hair. He turns to Ikalgo as Killua collects himself. "Aren't you that one guy Killua was walking home with the other night?"

Ikalgo's eyes light up like Christmas trees, and Killua snorts. "You remember me?"

"Yeah, the red hair and freckles are pretty memorable."

Ikalgo bristles and a small, self-conscious frown works its way out.

"He thinks the red hair and freckles make him ugly," Killua explains when Gon's face goes all confused and cute. "Ikalgo, this is Gon. Gon, Ikalgo."

"Nice to meet you," Ikalgo says, shaking Gon's hand while glaring at Killua.

Instead of a proper greeting, Gon says, "My aunt Mito used to say freckles are like stars because she found the Big Dipper in mine, and people call stars beautiful all the time."

Ikalgo nods, clearly flustered but trying to be polite. "Thanks, man."

"You say the weirdest things," Killua accuses, though he’s impressed at Gon’s ability to turn any situation around. 

Gon leans back over the counter to pull a strand of Killua’s hair, clearly moving onto the next most important thing. “You put your hair up today.”

“How observant of you," Killua mumbles, leaning in slightly as Gon lingers, fingers brushing past his ear, over his jaw.

Ikalgo headbutts into their bubble, literally. "Hey! If you guys are going to be gross boyfriends for the next thirty minutes just go. I’ll finish closing up the bar.”

"Would you?!" Gon exclaims at the same time Killua says, "Boyfriends?"

They stare each other down, and Ikalgo shuffles awkwardly next to them. "Seriously, man, it's best that you go, anyway. Palm is looking over here like she wants to steal your man."

Killua instinctively turns his head toward the remote drink station, and yeah, Palm is there sulking in the corner, oozing malicious intent. Gon follows his gaze, and Palm's demeanor shifts so dramatically that Killua has to do a double-take. He can hardly believe his eyes as she wriggles her spindle-fingers at Gon with a flirty, still-sinister smile.

"And who is _that_?" Gon asks, waving back.

"Stop it!" Killua smacks Gon's hand down on the counter while Ikalgo laughs.

"Oh, this is good," he wheezes. "You’ve gone and done it now, man. Killua, you gotta protect your boyfriend.”

"And _stop_ calling him my boyfriend," Killua snaps, ears and face surely red as Gon slips his hand out from under his increasingly clammy palm only to place it on top. He squeezes, pulling Killua's attention back to him.

"Let's go," he whines, putting on a rather convincing pout, "we have _boyfriend_ things to do."

Killua swears he is catching a case of whiplash while Ikalgo gags next to them. They'd planned to get some street tacos and hang out at the beach. Killua hadn't thought it was a date, but Gon is saying 'boyfriend,' too, and is looking at him with these soft, indescribable eyes that makes his knees weak. Are they boyfriends? Is this a date?

"O-okay. Thanks, Ikalgo," he manages to say under Gon's heavy gaze, "I owe you one."

"Yeah, yeah. Don't mention it," he says with a dismissive hand. "Now get out of here before I throw up."

  
  


After a round of teasing from Bisky and an assurance from Ikalgo that it's perfectly fine for him to leave early, Killua is changing into his a t-shirt and a pair of shorts much more reasonable than Gon's. He waves goodbye to Ikalgo and follows Gon outside, where Bertha is parked on the curb, literally. People have to walk around the front end jutting up onto the sidewalk.

"What was all that about?" Killua asks as they trot down the stairs.

"What? The 'boyfriend' thing?" The mention of it makes Gon laugh, and Killua's stomach churns. "I was going to ask you the same thing."

Killua groans as Gon opens the passenger door for him. "I don't know why Ikalgo said that. I'm sorry."

"I don’t mind," Gon says, shrugging.

The world gets a little brighter and Killua schools himself. "Is this a roundabout way of saying you want to be boyfriends?"

"No, I'm just saying I wouldn't mind if that's what people thought."

The world dims again—the rejection stings. Killua has the urge to turn away as they settle into their respective seats, but he knows better than to rest his head on the window. He throws his bag of clothes in the back seat and props his feet up on the dashboard to appear nonchalant.

"You're okay with people thinking we're together but not actually being together?"

"I don't think we have to label anything because then there will be expectations, which makes everything more complicated than it already is, don't you think?"

Killua isn't sure what he thinks; he's not even sure if he wants Gon to be his boyfriend. He's never been in an established relationship, and it seems like Gon hasn't either. It'd be stupid for them to play at something so permanent when everything is up in the air, but he would have preferred if he was the one to shoot the idea down.

"You have a point," he offers, crossing one ankle over the other. "I wouldn't want my first real relationship to be with a guy that drives a Prius, anyway."

Gon gasps. "Killua! What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all," he says, sighing wistfully and enjoying Gon’s indignation. 

  
  


They head onto the beach after another terrible parking job. Gon has their shoes and the green, fluffy blanket he keeps in the back of Bertha, and Killua holds their street tacos and horchatas with the expertise of a seasoned server—this must have been his calling all along, not stocks and mergers. 

Gon sets up in a somewhat hidden alcove close to the water, the blanket only a few feet from the waves reaching out for them. They sit crossed-legged with their knees touch, their food and drinks propped up in the space between their legs. There are few people on the beach tonight; it's just them, the night sky, and the seaweed that washes ashore.

Killua figures he shouldn't tell Gon, but tonight definitely feels like a date. Even though he's got sand between his toes, which is easily one of the worst sensations ever, being here with Gon feels great like he's just a regular guy crushing hard over someone that doesn't want to commit. He's content listening to Gon talk about his life back home. There's a quiet nostalgia in his voice that makes Killua's chest ache in longing for a place he's never been. The rolling hills, waterfalls, and tight-knit community Gon speaks of is reminiscent of some make-believe place like Neverland; Gon is a Peter Pan traveling the world in exchange for the comfort of never-ending youth. It's a fair trade. Killua suspects Gon will never really age, though his skin will sag, and his hair will gray. He has boundless, carefree energy that he will carry forever and share with anyone willing to believe, and Killua wants to believe.

"I used to herd cows for this older farmer," Gon says in between sips of horchata, "and he'd give me fruits from his wife's garden—apples, peaches, cherries. All kinds of stuff."

"Sounds like a lot of pie considering you said about your grandma’s obsessive baking.”

Gon groans. "Ugh, so much pie! I never thought I'd get tired of it, but even now, if I smell apple pie, it makes my stomach hurt. And on that note," Gon says, chuckling sheepishly, "are you going to eat your last taco?"

They both stare at it sitting limply in a cardboard basket between Killua's legs.

"No, you can have it," he says, though he had planned on eating it.

That's how Killua knows he's got a problem. He doesn't share food with anyone, but Gon gives him a sweet smile in return and he feels satisfied. Happy.

"What was it like where you grew up?" asks Gon mid-chew, covering his mouth. At least he has some decency. If Killua had done such a thing living at home, he'd have been swatted on the hand.

He looks out into the blank darkness ahead of them, water and sky merging, indiscernible. "I grew up in Youis. Heard of it?" Gon shakes his head. "It's a small city like your hometown, but completely different in every other way. Lots of concrete and snobby assholes. Nothing special."

"What'd you do for fun?"

"Not much. I spent most of my time in school, but I did read a little, and then I got into longboarding for a bit."

"That's cool. I remember seeing all of your longboards back at your place. You didn't say why you stopped."

"You saw why! I erected a badass bookshelf with them and I don't have the heart to ruin it."

"I'll get you a new bookshelf so you can longboard again. Will you teach me?"

Killua glances over at Gon. He's earnest in his request, but all he can think of is the night Gon had stayed over. He's way past the need for longboarding lessons as an excuse to touch, but it's been so long. He should get back into it now that he has Ikalgo to skate with and someone wanting to learn. 

"Sure. You get me that bookshelf, and I'll teach you how to longboard."

"Deal."

Gon flops back onto the blanket, his fingers reaching out for Killua's shirt and tugging. Killua gets the hint and lays down, too. It's quiet between them as Gon's fingers linger in his shirt, winding and unwinding the fabric. The air is cooler than when they first sat down, but Gon is a furnace keeping one side of Killua warm enough to keep the chill at bay. The sky is beautiful even though there are only a few clusters of stars thanks to all the light pollution of Port Idalia—or more accurately, the Romance Zone and its endless array of neon signs and spotlights floating in the sky. It's a small enough amount of stars to count, which reminds Killua of a constellation he'd like to find. He pulls out his phone, switches on the flashlight, and leans over Gon to illuminate his face.

"Ah! You're blinding me," he Gon, trying to shove Killua away when the light flashes in his eyes.

"Oops." Killua's grin is maniacal as he covers Gon's eyes with his free hand. "Close your eyes and stay still."

"Why? Is there something on my face?"

"Yeah, the Big Dipper."

"Oh, that! It's near my—"

"Shhh," Killua urges, "I want to find it myself."

"Okay, but it's not _that_ big. I should call it the Little Dipper honestly."

Gon lies still and patient as Killua traces a finger across the bridge of his nose. With such concentrated light, there are more freckles on Gon's face than Killua once thought. There are so many barely-there dots of darker pigment against his golden skin. Killua doesn't even know exactly what he's looking for, can't quite imagine the points of any constellation in his mind let alone the Big Dipper, but he keeps searching, now smoothing over strong cheekbones and through the stubble on Gon's chin.

"I don't have any freckles there," Gon says, laughing.

"I'm making sure."

He presses his thumb down against Gon's bottom lip next, feeling over the thin line of chapped skin. He doesn't mean anything by the gesture, but then Gon's tongue is flicking out against his fingerprint, playful and light. Killua presses it down with the pad of his thumb, wondering if Hisoka had felt this giddy shoving his tongue down. Gon has such a nice mouth. Is that a weird thing to think? Killua inches in further, pleased when Gon sucks gently, eyes fluttering open to peer up at Killua. He looks so good like this, and Killua feels like he's drowning when he replaces his thumb with his mouth, stealing Gon's breath for his own, phone falling to the sand, forgotten. This might have been the goal all along, constellations a distant memory. Killua straddles Gon, needing to get closer. It feels like they're kissing for the first time—free to explore unrestricted and without interruption. Killua almost forgets they're on the beach, _in public_ , until Gon bucks up against his ass, squeezing his hips and licking filthily into his mouth.

He pulls away, panting. "Want to go back to my place?"

"Yes," Gon says, breathless himself, "but not yet."

"Why not?"

"I want to get off with you _now_."

"Here?"

Gon smacks Killua's ass and laughs at the resounding yelp. "Yes."

Killua pouts. "We should go to your car at least." 

"We can't do that to Bertha," Gon says. "She's seen too much as is."

"What exactly has she seen?" Killua asks, rolling Gon's clothed nipples between his fingers.

"Mmm, don't be nosy. Come here." Gon pulls him down for another kiss, but Killua turns his head and goes to kiss along Gon's neck instead.

"Is this why you chose this spot?" 

"You kissed me first," Gon accuses, "but yeah, maybe."

"Well, too bad. I'm not taking my dick out on the beach. There's already sand in places I don't want sand to be, and more importantly, someone could see!"

"Coward."

"I'm not a coward, and I'm not an idiot like you either! Let’s go so I can suck your dick."

"If you keep shouting, people are going to get suspicious and come over here," Gon whispers with a mischievous grin, "so be quiet, okay?"

He tries to roll them over, but Killua steels himself, hands digging into the blanket and sand beneath, which only makes Gon more determined. Wrapping his legs behind Killua's knees, he's quick to grab Killua by the forearms, flip over and pin him down against the blanket. Gon is scooting back over his legs and parting them before Killua can blink.

"Gon," he warns, watching as his not-boyfriend mouths along the front of his shorts. 

Gon peers up at him innocently. "What? I'm not going to take your dick out," he promises, kissing along the hardening length, "but you'll want me to in a minute." 

Gon wets the fabric stretching taut over Killua's groin, a successful distraction that causes Killua to jump when hands slide in and up the wide legs of his shorts. He huffs, letting Gon push his legs further apart, heart lodged in his throat as Gon squeezes and kneads his inner thighs. 

"You're not as nice as you look," he whispers, pushing Gon's hair fully away from his face. Gon smiles and bats his lashes. 

“You sure?”

“Positive. That’s the look of pure evil.”

Gon laughs and his touch meanders up and up until both of his hands are massaging on either side of Killua's cock, barely rubbing where he needs it most. 

"If we go to your car, I'll suck you off first," offers Killua, smoothing more hair back only to tug on it when Gon tries to nuzzle into his crotch again. 

"No deal," Gon says. "How about this, the blanket covers us, and we suck each other off at the same time. It'll be super cozy and romantic."

"You're so fucking stubborn."

"So are you!"

"But you're more stubborn than me, and that's saying something."

They're at a standstill—Gon's hands up Killua's shorts and the moon hanging high in the sky.

"Is that a yes?" Gon prompts, eyes boring into Killua's soul.

Killua nods, burning despite the cold air. "Yes, you jerk."

Gon kisses a trail up his clothed stomach, their eyes still locked where he stops his ascent, hovering near Killua's lips. “Do you shave your legs?”

“Why?"

“They're so soft,” Gon murmurs, kissing Killua gently, “almost as soft as your lips.”

Killua goes even hotter as Gon retreats back down to his erection. “You’re so corny.”

"And you're so beautiful. Do you know that?"

"Stop being an idiot. If we’re going to do this, hurry up at least!"

"Fine," Gon says, finally wrapping a hand around the head of Killua's dick. He rubs his palm over the slit as he squeezes, working out precum and a strangled moan that makes Killua remove his hold from Gon’s hair to cover his mouth. "Don’t do that," he reprimands, “I want to hear you.”

“Didn’t you tell me to be quiet?”

“I said to stop shouting,” Gon corrects. 

He pulls the waistband of Killua’s shorts down, just underneath his balls, and ducks down to suck at the tip. It’s hot in Gon’s mouth and cold where his skin is exposed to the night air. Anyone could walk by and see them, and that prospect somehow makes Gon’s mouth on him even more agonizingly good. He can’t help whining into the cover of his hands, and Gon hums approvingly around his cock, shuffling his legs up beside Killua’s head and rolling both of them onto their sides.

“You sound beautiful, too," he murmurs, kissing along Killua’s length like it’s a prized possession. "So pretty, Killua."

“I hate you,” Killua answers, the fondness in his voice betraying his words. 

Everything Gon says hurts so good, and he doesn’t even know it. Killua can hardly stand it. All he can do is peel those tight shorts down Gon’s muscular thighs and take the most gorgeous, thick, uncut cock he’s ever seen into his mouth and swallow around the head until his jaw aches. He hopes Gon feels everything he can't say.

  
  
  


Stars follow Killua home. His bones feel like they've been snapped and reassembled, his brain mush, and the entirety of him satiated. He's on autopilot as he unlocks the front door, Gon pressed against him and kissing along his neck as he does. He would have completely missed the small box sitting outside the door if not for the leech on his back, sucking everything out of him and leaving nothing but longing. Gon detaches long enough to grab it.

"What's that?" Killua mumbles, missing Gon's arms wrapped around him.

"I don't know. Shouldn't you?" 

They head inside to curl up together on the couch, legs entangled and sand clinging to their feet. Killua watches with tired eyes as Gon tears through the pristine wrapping. It's a nondescript, black box—suede and compact with golden embellishments similar to the plates at Hisoka's penthouse. Killua gulps, rapt and coiled as if he hadn’t just cum his brains out an hour ago. Gon pulls the lid away to reveal a black butt plug, fat and curved at the tip, sitting atop a plush, red cushion. He plucks out a small card wedged in on the side and reads aloud:

"' _Dear Killua, dinner, nine p.m. Sunday, wear your best suit. Ready to be filled_?'" Gon snorts, but his voice is small when he asks, "is this from Hisoka?"

"What do you think, idiot?"

The loopy penmanship of the note makes Killua's heart race. He is truly fucked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always to my betas and also thank you for the comments!! they really do keep me going in moments when the self-doubt and existential questioning strangle me at odd times in the day. i come back and reread them to remind myself I'm doing a good job. thank YOUuUuUUUuUUUuUUuuUUuU


	10. Riding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> take this! take it! i have done so much editing...so much
> 
> thank you Pionut, The_Bad_Side, and wetofu for betaing ♡

And truly fucked Killua is because the bumps in the road are a usual nuisance, but the subsequent prodding up his ass? 

That's new.

He sits in the middle of a plush bench reeking of fine leather, hands folded beneath the glow of a pulsing strip of red light with Hisoka's gifted butt plug situated at an infuriatingly pleasurable angle. The glass of champagne poured by the driver—a short, scowling man with a thin fringe—sways with each quick turn of the limousine, and the sinful show of the Romance Zone shifts and shimmers through the tinted glass.

Having left his phone at home to avoid any potential casualties with it on his person, Killua thought he would feel lighter. But there are many other ways the night can go wrong and little is in Killua's control. He's riding on luck, a butt plug, and the ghosts of text messages past.

Killua+10:11AM

\+ Hey, are you okay?

Killua+10:12AM

\+ Obviously you're not. Where are you?

Killua+10:20AM

\+ Nevermind. Saw your IG post. Hope you're having fun. Don't fall and die. 

Killua+10:22AM

+I mean that seriously. No sarcasm. Don't die.

Killua+10:25AM

\+ Probably still shit of me to say. To think you'd even die. You're way too hard-headed for that.

Killua+11:02AM

\+ Can you come back before I leave tonight?

Killua+11:47AM

\+ Please?

Killua+1:43PM

\+ I'm sorry :/

Ghosted again, on purpose this time. Killua isn't sure what emotion precedes the rest—anger, hurt, confusion, worry, doubt—but he needs to focus. Gon is the last person he should be thinking about right now.

The joyride stops outside of a luxurious cabana restaurant called Lou's. Killua recognizes it as the place celebrities and other well-knowns go for a quiet, decadent dinner away from prying eyes and press. His heart is in his throat when the driver opens the door across from him with the placid expression expected of Hisoka's regular staff. Perhaps they are tired of his shenanigans, too.

"Good evening to you," the shorter man says, bowing as Killua passes with an awkward gait.

His half-hard dick is tucked between his legs because Illumi ordered his pants too fucking tight.

"Thanks."

A sleek and slender woman in towering heels meets him at the arched entrance, guarded by two long-faced, marbleized monoliths. "Welcome to Lou's. Do you have a reservation, sir?"

"Uh," Killua fumbles, failing to recall Hisoka's last name. It's uncouth to give the first name only, and his face burns when he says, "the reservation should be under Hisoka. I don't know his last name."

"Are you his date for the evening—"

"—yes, Killua Zoldyck."

"Lucky you," she says, scanning over him with thinly veiled distaste, "Mr. Morow requested a personalized procession of delicacies for the evening. This way."

Killua scowls. The last thing he wants is to be waited on hand and foot again, and he knows by the hostess' tone that 'personalized procession' means a pain in the ass for the kitchen. He never thought much of Kikyo demanding customization at any and all restaurants, even places where such behavior was actively frowned upon; because they were such high status, chefs bent over backward to accommodate them. Experiencing the chaos of a restaurant kitchen has enlightened Killua to the fallout of being catered to. It involves flying knives, insults hurled faster than said knives, and frayed nerves so sharp they could cut glass—a.k.a flying dishes from Menchi.

He's on the other side of the coin again, and everyone knows. Killua arrived in the Romance Zone obscured, but tied to Hisoka's infamy has cast him in a spotlight he wants to cower from. It will only be a matter of time before people start digging, and if things go as planned tonight, a matter of time will be narrowed down to hours, seconds, minutes. Everyone will then know far too much about him for comfort. What will Zushi and Ikalgo think?

Moody darkness envelops Killua as he follows the hostess around an unassuming corner where a spiral staircase climbs up to the roof like an iron vine. The searing, lingering gaze of the waitstaff propels him forward, hot on the hostess’s heels. The extent of newfound reputation is far-reaching already. Joy.

The patio, clearly designed for the meandering glass wall dividing the space to draw attention, sweeps out into the night and overlooks a private beach of cabana beds and manicured palm trees. Within the centerpiece, shining blue orbs line the flooring and cast up into the waterfall washing over the clear panes, overlaying the beautiful people sat along its perimeter in dancing waves. Diamond-encrusted watches and obscure gemmed rings bookend elegantly twisted, flickering candles and white calla lilies adorn each clothed table. Strategically positioned amidst the polished coordination of high-brow patrons and equally snooty waiters, Hisoka waits—effortlessly the true centerpiece.

Left to his keeper, Killua uses his pants as a napkin to dry clammy hands. His nerves are at an all-time high, but something about Hisoka's deceptively polite wave settles him slightly. It evokes Illumi's ever-useful advice, uttered dismissively over a phone call as if Killua had been yanking his arm for some respite.

"Remember, Killu. People are simply patterns. People do not deviate from their patterns for long, a constant in their behavior will come again. As long as you remember that, you will always have the upper hand, so be patient."

Patience. Killua wants to buy into such an idea. All he has to do is present his licentious needs on a silver platter and treat the camera embedded within the button of his breast pocket to a good show. If things don't work out, as long as he keeps Hisoka hooked and pliant, he has the time for more opportunities to present itself. But he wants tonight to work; he needs it to work despite what would come of his success.

Because if all goes according to plan, a scandalous sex tape of Hisoka Morow will be released tomorrow with the spider tattoo on full display. If anything sets ablaze a wildfire of rumors that Killua won't be able to live down, the potential results of tonight will do it. The deal between Illumi and Hisoka will crumble, and Gon won't have a reason to be stupid and jealous anymore (though the sex tape may be another point of contention). It’s a gamble, like every move he has made against Hisoka thus far; he can't be sure things will work out in his favor.

He is, after all, sitting across from Mr. Morow himself—infamous wielder of wealth and wiry young men, cunning and Killua’s most challenging rival yet.

"My flamingo is nervous, I see. Is the occasion a little too familiar for your liking?"

Killua shoots Hisoka a smirk. "If I were nervous, that wouldn't be the reason. There are . . . other pressing matters on my mind."

Hisoka smiles knowingly, tapping long, tapered fingers against the line of his jaw. He oozes his trademark mysterious allure—gaudy-chic doused in pastel and soft textures with refined, angular features and a fox's smile. His physique bulges artfully in a sheer, azure blouse that sparkles in the candlelight, and his hair, the usual vibrant red, falls into his face in a purposeful swoop. It's a happy accident that Killua is a matching counter piece in a tailored dark blue velvet.

"How is my gift? Is it a good fit?'

Hisoka glances down as if he can see through wood and bone and muscle to where said gift currently sits lodged against that tender spot within Killua, keeping him full in preparation for what's to come. 

He flusters under Hisoka's leaden gaze. "It's fine. Thanks." 

"And how is Gon?" Hisoka goes on, preening, voice cutting Killua clean in half, "I hear he left for the hills."

Another waiter drops off a dainty glass of sparkling purple liquid in front of Killua. It's not there five seconds before Hisoka plucks the decorative flower pinned on the rim and raises it to his pointed nose. Killua takes a sip of the drink, watching Hisoka sniff at the flower and wrinkle his nose. His eyes flit up, investigating the silence lingering in the wake of his provocation.

"No shit. Gon's social media is open for anyone to see," Killua chides.

"Yes, but he left directly from your place, did he not?"

How would Hisoka know if he weren’t spying? Are the rumors of him true?

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"I keep tabs on what's mine."

If Gon knew Hisoka considered him owned and accounted for, he would be pissed. Much like he was the night before. His anger had been funny at first, and then suddenly, before Killua could understand what was happening, it wasn't so funny anymore. Gon had been resting his head in Killua's lap, arms stretched overhead and feet hanging off the couch when, in response to a line of careful questioning, he said he hadn't seen Hisoka since last weekend.

The admission piqued Killua's interest. He had wrongly assumed Gon had stayed in contact after the events at The Eyre. "He didn't come to your shows at Heroes this week?" 

"I told him not to. I'm mad at him."

"Why?"

"Because!" Gon jolted upright, blundering about until he could look at Killua head-on. "He's trying to get under my skin."

Killua had snorted, knowing himself how infuriating it was. "Sounds like whatever he's doing is working."

"Yeah, it _is_ working. I told him I was interested in you, and he was fine with it. He encouraged it actually, offering to pay your cover at Heroes that one night, but then everything happened at the hotel, and now you're his—" Gon struggled for the right words "—thirty-day sex slave!"

Killua's snort tumbled into laughter, absently reaching out to play with Gon's stubby, calloused fingers. "You think he offered my brother this deal just to piss you off? You're more self-centered than I thought."

"I'm serious, Killua!"

"I know, but it's kind of stupid to take it so seriously when this isn't even about you."

"I'm not the only reason he's doing all of this. Clearly, he's interested in you, too, and I don't blame him, but you get it, don't you? I'm not going to let him have _both_ of us."

"It's far too late for that. Besides, I doubt any of this is so personal to Hisoka that he will react how you want. What are you hoping to get out of this? You wanna make him miss what he had? Punish him?"

"N-no," Gon sputtered, irritation evident in the harsh slant of his brow. "But it's not fair. He doesn't deserve you, and if I let him have me, too—"

"—you're still looking at this the wrong way, Gon. Hisoka wins whether you participate or not," said Killua pointedly. 

Gon's eyes were hard, and his lips a thin, impenetrable pout. "I already told him to fuck off. I'm not going back on my word." 

Killua squeezed Gon's hand with a long-suffering sigh. He had resolved to let go of any expectation for Gon to choose him over Hisoka. He thought, prematurely, that Gon would continue seeing both of them and made peace with it, but Gon's withdrawal means he has chosen Killua by default, not directly and not with any actual intent. It's a jab at Hisoka more than anything, and that rubs Killua the wrong way.

"Well," Killua said slowly, gaze lingering on the black suede box left untouched from when it had first been opened. He wasn't going to let Gon get off easy, "I suppose you won't be helping me with _that_ then."

Gon promptly deflated from anger to petulant confusion. "What? Why not?"

"That's for _Hisoka_ and me. _You_ don't want to be involved anymore."

"Killua, you're so cruel! I never said I don't want to be involved. I just don't want to give Hisoka what he wants."

And cruel Killua was. "Seriously, Gon, do you think he cares? You've already let him chain you up and fuck you brainless. Mission accomplished. He's on to the next now."

"Yeah, to _you_ , and I hate it."

Ah, there was the truth.

"You're jealous."

Gon looked down at his hand, clamped tight in Killua's. "Yeah, who wouldn't be?"

For Gon to spout his nonsense about simplicity, he sure was hellbent on making things fucking complicated. Of course jealousy would arise, but the last thing Killua would do is burden Gon with unnecessary feelings. An arrangement as strange as theirs mean hard feelings are bound to occur. Why couldn't Gon just realize the situation and play his part? Why was he trying so hard to be self-righteous in such a gray situation in the first place? 

"It's pointless to let it get to you."

"Easy for you to say." 

Killua rolled his eyes. "Do you think I _enjoyed_ watching Hisoka fuck you?"

"Did you not?" 

"It was hot, but yeah, I was fucking jealous and annoyed at the same time. Like you said, who wouldn't be? But I knew what I was walking into—sort of, anyway."

Gon's voice was on the rise, like the swell of the sea in a storm. "But that's the thing! I didn't know I was walking into _this_."

Killua matched his pitch without thought, standing small but firm on his ship of better judgment. "Okay, neither of us _want_ to be in this position exactly, but I'm not going to complain about it. Isn’t this you running away? Didn’t you say you weren’t going to? And that I couldn’t either?"

"Sorry, I'm not going to lay down and succumb to Hisoka’s every wish. That’s not me running away, that’s me doing something about this situation since you won’t."

"Big surprise. You're not exactly the submissive type."

Killua had thought so (at least when it came to sex) until he experienced Gon late Friday night without restraints to keep him contained. 

"You're not taking me seriously," Gon accused, "and it's pissing me off." 

Killua dropped Gon's hands, the feel of them in his grasp holding back his anger like a levee. He wanted to demolish it and experience the resulting flood.

"You're pissing _me_ off," he snapped back, "you're only upset because you don't want to share. You want everyone to want you, but they aren't allowed to want anyone else. I wouldn't be surprised if you _are_ hoping Hisoka will come crawling to you if you hold out long enough."

"That's not true." Gon's tone was dark—a bitter challenge.

Killua met him at the helm. "It is! If you don't see it, then you're fucking stupid."

"Yeah, maybe I am stupid, but fuck! You're—what you're saying is that I'm wrong for how I feel? Because I don't want him to fuck you? Am I _really_ wrong for that?"

Killua didn't answer right away. Gon left him on the couch to pace back and forth, over and over with his hands stuffed in the obscenely large pockets of his sweatpants. Killua clocked his movements, a sailor ready to go down with his ship.

"You're an idiot," he had said definitely, spitting venom. "Hands down the most idiotic person I've ever fucking met. Have you even processed what you just said? Just how stupid you actually sound? I never said you're wrong for it, but you’re going about it the wrong way and being incredibly fucking selfish in the process. Get the fuck over yourself."

Killua sat there, high and mighty in his spot on the couch, petrified in a flash of guilt when Gon stopped his pacing to stare back at him in disbelief, hair wild and unkempt from where, earlier in the day, Killua had carded through it absently. That earlier, quaint moment between them, hands roaming and a million things unsaid, existed in another universe entirely. 

And good thing it did. Killua was coiling around his wounds, irrationally patching up holes though he knew he was due to sink. He glared back at Gon and his stupid gaping mouth, buzzing with rage and unwilling to back down. Maybe it was that immovable look that made Gon realize it was pointless to continue his idiotic tirade. He left without another word, slamming the front door so hard the tired walls shook with the force. The Somethings rattled in their forever-frightened stances, and Killua was shockingly pleased—self-assured and reeling, floating among the wreckage and marveling at the relative stillness.

He drowned in a sad wank that night. The texts he can't stop thinking about were sent the following morning—this morning—in the wake of panic. Anger and its groupies still wade in him, like water sloshing in his ears. Hisoka is going to fuck him and there's nothing Gon can do about it, but Killua had wanted to make amends before he went to face the devil himself. Gon didn’t give him the chance, left his texts unanswered yet again. Maybe Gon is still angry, too.

Killua takes another sip of the nasty gin cocktail to wash over the bitter taste of regret. "It comes with the territory," he says after a moment.

"That’s all you have to say? I expected a bit more of a fight."

"I've heard the rumors—" the rumors that, coupled with their previous tryst, gave Killua the inspiration for his current stealth operation "—I wouldn't be surprised if you were spying on Gon and me when you left us alone that night at your penthouse, too. It must be painfully taxing for you to mind your own business."

"Extremely so, but alas, I don't know what the two of you did in my absence that night, though it's an easy guess," Hisoka says with a chuckle, twirling the flower between two polished fingers. "Maybe it was foolish of me to pass up the opportunity. I've managed to find myself on Gon's bad side; he’s refused to see me."

Killua doesn't take the bait, following the back and forth twirl of bright yellow petals. He attempts to strike somewhere deeper, beyond the game they’re playing.

"You must feel less alone if whoever you fuck is under a magnifying glass, too."

Hisoka hums, sweeter than a perfectly toasted creme brulee, deceitfully so. 

"Don't get me wrong, Killua. Nothing distracts me from the truth. I know I'm alone. I always have been, and I like it that way. That doesn't mean I don't enjoy peering in through someone else's window. In fact, it makes the aloneness a little more tangible—all-encompassing if you will."

"If that's the case, then don't you get tired of it—everyone peering into your window and making judgments? We're all alone, but living like this," Killua gestures to the people around them—the forever actors and stagehands and perpetual audience, "being you, there's never a moment of true peace. Not really."

"I've come to terms with it and have found peace. Have you? You've yet to outrun your past, but not for long. Being with me, it's bound to catch up to you and kick you in the heels. You'll end up face down, ass up, eating the dirt dug up by people with nothing better to than gossip."

Two plump, glazed scallops bedded in half-clams shells are placed between them before Killua can respond. The waiter throws him an odd glance, probably acutely aware of the deathly aura settling around Killua in a thick fog. He lowers his head. 

"Personally," Hisoka continues, purposefully oblivious, "I think most of what will be dug up about you and your family is all wrong. Illumi's 'preference for grimy bathroom blowjobs' and you being a 'bratty bottom that doesn't know how to take a dick?' Based off on what I know, they got the two of you mixed up, though you are bratty, too. . ."

"Hisoka," Killua warns lowly, "Shut. Up."

"Hm, or maybe both of you are only good with your mouths. I suppose I'll find out soon enough, won't I?"

Killua looks up at Hisoka through the errant strands of hair falling into his face. "You're such a fucking asshole."

"A fitting insult considering our plans this evening. Perhaps you will redeem yourself and tell the next undercover reporter you sleep with all about our transactional sexcapade."

"You won't be worth the headline," Killua sneers.

"Oh, but I am. If not for my status and prestige, then I'll be on my very worst behavior to ensure it."

Hisoka winks and nuzzles the long, frilled stem of the flower, eyes dark, hungry, and striking Killua deep in his groin despite the anger flickering across his chest. He shifts in his seat, crossing and uncrossing his legs to adjust the plug's position and accidentally nudging Hisoka's leg with his foot in the process.

"Kicking me again, hm?"

"That was an accident," Killua admits, cheeks heated. 

"Last time or now? Neither, I hope."

Hisoka shifts in his seat and goes about setting the flower aside and picking up his appetizer fork, quiet for once. Suspicious, Killua moves his foot left and right, and realizes Hisoka has spread his legs in a vague invitation. This is what he wants—for Killua to get all angry and worked up in the middle of a pretentious pre-fixe dinner and take it out on him. Thankfully for Hisoka, Killua isn't Gon, and though he's pissed, he is in no mood to miss out on some much-deserved retribution. 

Killua joins Hisoka in the charade of normalcy, scooping a scallop onto his starter plate while hooking the heel of his shoe over the edge of Hisoka's chair and pushing the tip of his shoe forward. The give of stretched fabric and weighty flesh beneath sends a rush of excitement through him as Hisoka gingerly scoops one of the scallops onto his plate—a serene look on his angular face. 

"You're a sad man," Killua says.

He rubs the bottom of his shoe along a hardening length, his own fattening with the thrill of their little private mini-game. Casually, Hisoka ruts up against his foot like they're not sitting in a four-star restaurant, and suddenly, Killua can't imagine sitting in this pretentious place any longer than it'd take to pay the bill.

"Perhaps, but what does that make you? You're enjoying yourself more than you let on."

Killua pushes down harder like he's revving his long gone Range Rover, preening when Hisoka sits up a little straighter, a slight crack in his poised demeanor. 

"I don't understand why you've gone to such lengths to provoke me in public," Killua says, leaning with forearms on the table to keep from drawing attention to the strained position of his outstretched leg hidden beneath the tablecloth. "You could have said any of this in the privacy of your penthouse and gotten the same results."

"These people might not know it, but I've got a beautiful, estranged Zoldyck prince to do with as I please. Do you blame me for wanting to show you off?"

Killua pushes some of the hair from his face, and with a firm, suggestive tone, he says, "This 'estranged, Zoldyck prince' wants to leave. We both know we could be doing something better."

"You're in no position to be making demands," Hisoka says simply, an empty threat.

"Neither are you," counters Killua. He tamps down on the growing erection beneath his shoe, enough for Hisoka to set down his silverware with a clatter. 

"With the right sleight of hand, I'm not a hard man to convince," says the older man, jaw stiff and shoulders too-square to be relaxed. 

A flick of Hisoka’s wrist and the table is cleared. With hands carefully poised over the tent of tight dress pants, Killua follows Hisoka down the same dangerously obscure stairs he climbed only twenty or so minutes before. Each step aggravates the toy inside him, and he feels crazy with it, trailing helplessly behind his keeper as unforgiving lust pools low and steady. When the chef comes bumbling toward them with a tall, white hat and a string of apologizes, Killua wants to yank Hisoka away and flee to the relative privacy of the limo.

"Go ahead," Hisoka says to a needy Killua, sensing his distress and offering an oddly reassuring smile as the hostess from earlier hands him a floral overcoat that he uses to hide the bulge in his pants more effectively.

Flustered and annoyed, Killua heads outside with only his hands to hide his own budding excitement. The valet notices him with a frown. 

"Sir?"

"I– uh," he glances around for the limo, "I'm waiting for my car. Thanks."

He waves the valet off and stands next to one of the horse-faced statues. An expected bout of cold feet quells his anticipation as he considers the long walk to the nearest bus station. Before he can follow through, his carriage glides to a stop before him, the driver rushing to open the door with a quiet quip.

"That was an unusually fast dinner."

"Bad seafood."

Shuffling back and forth on his feet without thinking, the plug punctures Killua and makes him flinch from the jolt of pleasure. 

"Are you alright, sir? Would you like me to pour you another drink?"

He shakes his head and ducks into the limousine in a cold sweat. He settles into the same spot as before and pokes his head through the partition once the driver sits on the other side.

He taps on the tinted glass. "Is this soundproof?" 

"Yes. Why?"

"No reason. Know where we're heading?" 

"Boss hasn't said."

Killua makes a sound of acknowledgment and presses the button on the armrest next to him, watching eagerly as the thick glass separates them. Then he turns a knob labeled 'volume,' relaxing slightly as a low crooning voice and sensual accompaniment pervade the space.

While angry and uncertain in the back of a swanky limo his family wouldn't be caught dead in, something about waiting for Hisoka turns Killua on even more. He wiggles back and forth, palming at himself and quieting his heavy breathing. His attention shifts from the tinted windows to the tinted partition in nervous intervals. He’s ready to exact revenge and each minute that ticks by serves to double his desire.

When Hisoka finally joins Killua in the limo, he occupies the opposing seat and pouring himself a short glass of whiskey from the small but well-stocked bar next to him. A prominent bulge sits at the front of his pants, long and begging for attention. Killua watches impatiently. Lou's is on the far edge of the Romance Zone, where the coastal waves are quieter, and with the nightly traffic at its peak, he will have to endure roughly twenty minutes alone with Hisoka in the back of this limo if The Eyre is their destination.

Without any other considerations, Killua sinks onto the floor and knees across to Hisoka, wondering what mood constitutes a whiskey instead of something sickeningly sweet like a bubblegum martini. Does Hisoka like it for the placating warmth that follows the burn? Does a bite get him in the mood? Killua spreads his long legs apart so he can fit within them. His heart hammers away, entire body throbbing as he stabilizes himself with Hisoka's thighs when the limo lurches forward. He can't imagine waiting twenty minutes or more when Hisoka's so close and fucking _ignoring_ him.

Hazy gold eyes peer over the rim of thick glass, long curled lashes framing their black-rimmed shape. Under the carmine glow, Killua thinks, not for the first time, that Hisoka is breathtaking. Even more so when his eyes crinkle at the corners with his sly smile. 

"Desperate, are we?

His voice is warm and deep, and Killua wants to bathe in it. Once again, he almost forgets the whole purpose for being here, convinced the only objective is the man before him.

"No," he lies, driving his fingers into the starched fabric of Hisoka's pants.

Hisoka holds his drink with one hand, and with the other, he smooths over the hard line of his clothed erection with a cocky smile. That smile, reminiscent of the one Gon wore when he rode Killua's dick as if he owned it, sends a chill over hot skin. It makes Killua's heart stutter in its haste because it was in that moment with Gon that he knew he had been claimed under a personal vendetta. In the afterglow, he didn't feel sated as much as he felt used.

Gon had come knocking on his door late into the night, drunk and handsome in tight jeans and a dark green henley. Killua suspects that if the door weren't locked, Gon would have barged right in as if his name were on the lease, too.

"Missed you," he slurred, wrapping around Killua and nuzzling into his neck, "fuck, you smell so good."

It was those weird things that Gon said that made Killua weak. He tried to push Gon away. "Get off me, freak." 

When that didn't work, he shoved at Gon's face, but then Gon did the thing where he licked across Killua's palm, laughing as he tried to bite a finger next. 

"Let me love you!" he jokingly cried, using Killua's slight pause to hitch him up by the legs.

Killua's face had burned, not at Gon's hands groping his ass as he was carried to the bedroom by stumbling feet, but at how casually that word had been thrown at him. Love. Killua didn't know the first thing about love outside of family, but if he had to pin such a feeling to anything—anyone—right now or keel over and die, it would be Gon. Said wild, untamed man made sure to fuck him shamelessly with said love. 

Gon seated himself on Killua’s dick with familiar ease, having only allowed five minutes of fingering before kissing him into submission—the bastard knew Killua was weak for a good, sloppy kiss. With the amount of lube squirted onto the both of them, every cant of Gon's hips made the lewdest squishing sounds as he took Killua in, deeper and deeper, for more prolonged bouts of time, just squeezing around him as they kissed. When Killua couldn't take it anymore and tried to move, Gon pressed Killua down with hands on his chest and rode him like he was a fucking mechanical bull at a bar.

"Fuck, Gon, I'm gonna cum embarrassingly fast like this," Killua had admitted in a hushed pant, happily crushed beneath Gon's weight.

"Oh, yeah? You're gonna cum for me? Just for me, yeah?"

That's when Gon had smiled—proud, cocky and daring— before proceeding to absolutely wreck him. Killua had no choice but to lay there and take it and fuck it was the complete opposite of how he thought sex with Gon would be. With how things had been with Hisoka, Killua thought he would be the one making Gon come apart, not the other way around. He knows now that the handcuffs Hisoka used to restrain Gon were not just a mere kinky prop but a genuine effort to employ some sense of control. 

Gon demands to be restrained, and, unfortunately for Killua, Hisoka makes similar demands. His provocations and lewd suggestions are requests for a challenge, and his smile a promise that he will not go down without a fight. This is the real game they're all playing, exchanging looks, lust, and each other for selfish reasons none of them can fault the other for. That's just how the world works, and Killua should stop quietly hoping for meaning where there is none.

"No," he says again, meeting Hisoka's cocky smile with his own, ignoring the erratic pounding in his chest. "I'm no more desperate than you." 

"Well, that simply won't do," Hisoka says, unzipping his fly.

This is it. The moment Killua has been waiting for. He salivates as metal teeth pull apart to reveal skin instead of one last shield of fabric. Hisoka's cock springs free in slow motion. Where Gon is thick and heavy, Hisoka is long and lithe and curved with the intent to antagonize. Killua is afraid just looking at it, all red and angry and ready to impale him. 

Oh, and the tattoo. Right. Killua avoids his prize—whether it's a consolation or celebration all depends on a stupid sketch of ink. The cleanly-stitched hem of Hisoka's pants calls him and, leaning back so the tiny button-camera can get a clear view, he pulls on the fabric with anxious vigor. He doesn't get far before smooth, unblemished skin steals the wind from his sails. 

His stomach drops, hands stilling where they rest on Hisoka's thighs.

"You talk too big of a game to be having second thoughts now," Hisoka muses, an errant hand coming to brush the hair away from Killua's paling face.

The tattoo isn't there. 

But he saw it with his own eyes. 

He didn't imagine it, did he?

Quickly switching tactics, he looks up at Hisoka through his lashes and says, "Just admiring the view." 

Hisoka twirls a loose silvery strand of hair around a long finger. "You flatter me."

Killua doesn't humor Hisoka with a response. Inward panic is mounting, but not because of the veiny dick in his face. He passes a hand over where the inked spider should be, surprised at the tackiness of the skin, how it feels like Alluka's face when she applies her foundation too heavily. His fingers are there for only a second before Hisoka shifts away with narrowed eyes. Intrigued, Killua thumbs over the area again. 

"Sensitive?"

"Something like that."

The hand in his hair comes to push his head down. Hisoka clearly wants to avoid the subject, which confirms Killua's suspicions. The tattoo is covered, but for what reason? 

Hisoka is easier to get his mouth around than Gon, but it's a long way to go before all of it in his mouth, and Hisoka cants his hips up more and more, challenging him to back down. Killua's 'penchant for grimy bathroom blowjobs' comes in handy, his domesticated gag reflex docile. Salty precome coats his tongue as Hisoka keeps going, unforgiving as the swollen glans of his cock hits the back of his throat. With watery eyes, Killua swallows around it, basking in the aftermath as Hisoka pulls out with a husky laugh.

"Good boy," he praises, swiping at the wetness on Killua's lips, "but I can't let you keep doing that. I want to cum in your ass, not down your throat." 

Both Hisoka and Gon pluck away at any semblance of decency, and it embarrasses Killua just as much as it makes him squirm. Right now, he's hollowed out by disappointment, and Hisoka's words are gutted and null as well.

"How do you want me?"

"Are you going to make it that easy?" 

"I'm picking my battles."

It's half of the truth. The other half is of the truth lies in the well of emptiness in the pit of his stomach battling with the lust fermenting there. It's not the kind of emptiness that can be filled with a dick up his ass. No, it's the kind of emptiness that lingers after a business deal gone awry—when a well-crafted plan falls in on itself and spoils the fun.

Hisoka seems to sense the subtle shift, but he doesn't comment on it, simply downing the rest of his drink and motioning for Killua to turn around. Killua does so, steadying himself with the empty seat in front of him as deft hands unbuckle the designer belt from around his waist and shimmy the bespoke, velvet slacks down his hairless thighs.

The odds of success were 50/50 without considering outliers. Either the tattoo would be there, or it wouldn't. Gon had said Hisoka likes to cover his imperfections, but why a tattoo? Did Hisoka see it as an imperfection? Or was it the habit of secrecy that spurred him to powder and pat it away? Was he still suspicious, and close to hitting his mark?

Killua goes to all fours, the blood in his veins mimicking the pulse of the blood-red lights. He thinks about Hisoka sitting in bed with limp hair and an oversized t-shirt. Foolishly, he felt he had witnessed a layer beneath the show —a behind-the-scenes take that could give a clue or two about the production. But that, too, had been calculated. Killua can't ignore the fact that, for whatever reason, Hisoka hadn't covered the tattoo that night. No indication had been made that Killua had seen it, and he has only 'accidentally' touched it now. There's no way Hisoka could be onto him, but Killua is shaken nonetheless. 

Hisoka is an enigma he needs to pin down in less than thirty days, but he hasn't a clue where to start, can't yet pin down the finer, more elusive patterns needed to gain the trust of someone so artfully guarded and conniving. Killua should be patient. This is a game of attrition, give and take, power and control. Failure was a possibility all along, high in probability, and Killua should be glad that tonight's sex tape won't be released to the public. He should be relieved and maybe even pleased that this strange attraction to Hisoka can be further explored, but he can't enjoy that with Gon lurking in the back of his mind. Gon apparently wants nothing to do with Hisoka now, and the longer Killua is entangled with him, the more complicated things will be with Gon. 

Disappointment, desire, and a fit of residual anger tide together in a spirituous affair of emotions binding Killua tight as Hisoka traces his flesh—over his ass, down the sides of his thighs and up again.

It's almost like Hisoka can read thoughts and wants to soothe him. His dick is pulled back between his legs, Hisoka's skilled hand stroking from base to tip. Killua closes his eyes and collapses onto his forearms with a sigh. Hisoka thumbs into the slit of his cock with each pass, like last time they were together but with enough pressure to make Killua shake. 

"You're so wet." 

"Mhm," is all Killua can manage as the limo takes a sharp turn. 

Hisoka's other hand comes to steady him at the hip, waiting for the drive to straighten out before he's tugging at the handle nestled against Killua's asshole. That snaps Killua back into reality where his first and most important prerogative is to please Hisoka, a rubberband releasing from its mounting tension. An embarrassing sound falls from his mouth when Hisoka pulls the plug out halfway, the wide girth of it stretching him with a promising sting. He instinctively pushes back, but Hisoka keeps him in place with a disapproving tut. After an experimental pause, the slow drag continues until Killua is empty and clenching around nothing.

"Such a pretty little hole," Hisoka murmurs. "Nice and pretty and pink."

A finger slips inside, all shallow and noncommittal, making Killua hang his head with an embarrassed, put-out huff.

"Shut up and fuck me already," he spats, ignoring the way his own body hungrily sucks in the intrusion.

Hisoka's answering laugh is full of mirth, like he's enjoying tea with a long-lost friend. Killua moans helplessly when Hisoka pulls away, ready to get on with it, but instead, Hisoka spreads him, cool air drafting over his entrance followed by an open-palmed slap. Killua lurches forward with a startled cry, head bumping against the seat. He can't help pushing back again, more startled by his eagerness for whatever Hisoka decides to give him rather than the spanking itself. 

Eyes are on him, admiring; it's filthy being ogled in this position, ass in the air, completely exposed, and cock hanging heavy and dribbling. Arousal spreads up from Killua’s toes to his face in one quick lick of heat. 

"'Bratty bottom' seems to check out," Hisoka says, hand coming down hard over Killua's asshole again, "it’s cute, but I'll fuck you when I'm ready."

Hisoka continues the impromptu spanking as if they're not in a fucking limo—as if they've got plenty of time. Each resounding slap, sharp and obtrusive, pulls a needy whimper from Killua, already too far gone to care about exactly how soundproof the partition is. Too far gone to care about his asshole tightening with each assault, well aware of what Hisoka must see from his perspective, sure the stupid pervert is enjoying the view. The budding sting is so hot, so dizzying that Killua jumps when, instead of the harshness of Hisoka's punishing hand, a tongue meets his assaulted skin in broad stripes.

He buries his face in his hands, keening when Hisoka finally licks over his hole and pushes inside—a sordid apology for the pain just administered. He nearly dissolves into a puddle of wanton mortification. Hisoka is eating him out, licking and kissing and sucking like he's starving. And well, he might be, having been coerced into forgoing a 'personalized procession of delicacies.' That was a little bratty of Killua admittedly, but the rest? Can he be considered a bottom if this is his first time being eaten out—if he likes topping more? 

Killua had thought Gon would get first dibs. They had talked about it—the black suede box having birthed the conversation. Gon wanted to put it in, to prep Killua and fuck him before Hisoka could. That had led them to the shower, washing away sand that had crept into odd nooks and crannies at a comfortable pace, though the purpose wasn't lost in their lingering. Gon had his hands in Killua's hair, hard dick poking at his lower back. The position reminded Killua of Hisoka and he groaned, happy and horny and also ashamed for thinking of someone else while with Gon.

"It’s almost like you’re purring," Gon says, laughing.

"Keep doing that, please."

"This?" Gon scratched lightly behind his ears and along his hairline. Pleased, Killua reclined his head. “You’re so cute.”

Killua ignored that, the entirety of his being abruptly aware of the frailty of that present moment—its fleeting quality juxtaposing the solidness of Gon behind him and the scrape of fingertips across his scalp.

"Gon, are you leaving once these thirty days are up?"

There had been a pause. "I dunno. Why?"

"Just wondering."

Another pause. "Would you come with me?"

"Where?"

"Anywhere."

Killua turned to face Gon and promptly got lost in his big, amber eyes. "Why?"

"Why not?"

He thought about how his lease would be up in two months and how nothing was tying him to Port Idalia and the Romance Zone. If Gon left, he had no real reason to stay, so he might as well go, too. But how would he continue to support Alluka while gallivanting off to whatever corner of the Earth piqued Gon's interest after Kagate?

"I have to take care of Alluka," said Killua eventually, leaning in for a kiss. "I'd follow you anywhere if I could."

Gon gave Killua a chaste kiss and then promptly pouted against his lips. 

"You can," he had insisted, resuming scrubbing at the suds in Killua's hair, but with less focus, "she's an adult, you know."

"I know that. Of course I know that, but she's at an elite college. A job would take away from her studies and ruin her experience."

"What about you, though?"

"What _about_ me?"

Gon stepped closer, both of their erections poking against the other's hip. His breath fanned hot against Killua's face, the rest of his body cooling without the showerhead's lackluster spray.

"Are you really just going to stay and work at the Jaunty Flamingo until she graduates? Do you really think Hisoka will leave you alone even after these thirty days are up?"

Killua stiffened, rearing back to look at Gon fully. "That's what you're worried about? _Hisoka_?"

Gon shrugged. "Yeah, I mean, who's to say he'll be content with giving you up once this is all said and done? I know I wouldn't."

It was then that it occurred to Killua that Gon was only proposing to whisk him away to keep him from Hisoka, not for the sole purpose of being with him. It was flattering for a split second; Gon was _that_ jealous and possessive, but Killua had to remember the cold, hard facts: 

Gon didn't want to commit. Not really. He liked the idea more than the actual execution, and worse, he said the most awfully endearing, painfully romantic things without a second thought. 

Killua caved after that conversation, making a shitty excuse as to why he didn't want to use the butt plug. Gon was visibly disappointed but understanding; he took out his frustration over the matter on Killua’s dick. They had jerked each other off instead, Gon's grip so forceful Killua had to slow him down. Looking back, that probably wasn't the case. Gon had only been doing things the only way he knew how, but he was quick to accommodate Killua's preferences—tight, twisting strokes, and more lube. 

Stupidity aside, Gon is good. He is so good, and what has Killua done other than push him down and stomp all over him? Fuck. This is arguably the worst time to be thinking about him. Killua reaches back to push Hisoka's head away, guilty and shameful of his desire to be fucked so thoroughly that he forgets about his current line-up of failures, but resolved. He wants this, and that’s all he needs to focus on.

"Hisoka," he whines when that wet tongue licks over him once more, teasing, "please."

"'Please' what?" Hisoka palms at his ass expectantly, and Killua inhales shakily. 

"Please, fuck me," he says, demanding and wavering all at once, "I've been waiting so long. Please."

And Killua has been waiting. He has waited since last weekend at The Eyre, and the stupid plug had been massaging his prostate for three excruciating hours until now. The ghost of it is haunting. Hisoka needs to fill him—to mold his insides to the shape of Hisoka's cock until he can think of nothing else. 

"That's the kind of desperation I like to hear."

Hisoka pulls him up from all fours to his knees, joining him on the limo floor. Undoing each button of his blazer, Hisoka's voice is feather-light in Killua's ear, whispering about how he can't wait to be inside, to feel Killua bear down on his cock and bounce in his lap. With Hisoka roaming over his stomach and chest, pinching his nipples and groping at the slight dip of his waist, it's too much.

Killua moans in response, squeezing at his weeping cock and watching as precum pulses out. He leans back against Hisoka and slides his fist up and down at a torturous pace, coating himself with his own slick and vaguely wondering if Hisoka has lube. He's so hard it hurts.

"Your body is perfect," continues Hisoka reverently, squeezing Killua's pecs and biting at his ear, "you're such a pretty boy. All mine."

"Show me already." Killua strokes over his balls and down against his taint, Hisoka's hands following hungrily. "Show me that I'm yours."

"You're bossy." 

Those words—low and velvet in his ear—ignite him like kerosene. He bats Hisoka's hands away, glancing back at him with an evocation of his own. 

"You like it. Now sit."

Hisoka obeys without another remark, much to Killua's surprise, reclaiming his seat and jutting his hips out with a lascivious grin— _your seat_ , he's saying.

With a complacent smile, Killua rises right as the limo aggressively pitches forward yet again. Hisoka catches him by the arm, reliably anchoring him. Killua locks onto Hisoka's forearm, clawing into him as he kicks off his pants and then his shoes because he's not riding Hisoka's dick with fucking shoes on. He goes to take off his socks, but then Hisoka is tugging him forward. 

Two fingers enter him immediately upon sitting, petting his insides until that certain spot is brushed and prodded. Pleasure like hot liquid steams through Killua and settles tauntingly in his groin, making him mewl like a damn pornstar. The resulting smile on Hisoka's face is wicked, and Killua is wound so fucking tight with his cock drooling helplessly between them, still worried about the impending seven or so inches he's going to sit on. The words slip out before he can stuff them back into the depths of his stupid brain.

"Be gentle," he says, thrumming anxiously, with an added "or else," to recover his cool.

Hisoka doesn't tease, though there's a concerning glint in his caramel candy eyes. 

"I'll try my very best. Wouldn't want to break such a pretty toy so soon."

"Do you ever get tired of being so fucking cringy," Killua mutters, hands wrinkling the flimsy fabric of Hisoka's shirt. "Take this stupid thing off."

"No."

Killua is left empty again as Hisoka procures a small, discreet bottle. He waits, blood pounding in his ears so steadily he can hardly hear the music anymore. He jumps when the head of Hisokas' cock rubs over him, warm and slick with lube.

"No condom?" 

"How am I supposed to cum inside you with a condom on? You're clean, right?"

"Yeah, are you?"

Hisoka grins. "Always. In case you ever want to return the favor."

With a heaved exhale, Killua says, "you're the worst," and sits back on Hisoka's cock, gritting his teeth. He's surprised when he feels himself give way to it—feels Hisoka push up into him carefully; the stretch stings but doesn't hurt nearly as much as he remembers from his first time, though he’s certainly wondering how well he’ll fair in fucking Hisoka into oblivion. 

Hisoka steers him at the hips again, so he can’t move on his own; his thighs shake with the effort to hold up. Killua gets his hands around Hisoka's throat, both to steady himself and to bite back some control. It's the right move; he receives another inch of Hisoka's cock. 

“Is this what you wanted, Killua? Wanted to sit on my cock and suffocate me?” 

“Yes,” Killua breathes, thumbs tucking under Hisoka’s jaw to crane his head back.

This fullness is far more than the butt plug, it’s uncomfortable and deeply satisfying all in one. He moans, feeling Hisoka throb inside him in answer. Hisoka's pretty lips tick upward at one corner as he pouches Killua down on his cock a little more. It does something strange to Killua, has him swelling with an intense desire to taste. He wants to kiss Hisoka, touch him in every way possible as he's filled and stretched and massaged with the delicious slide of a big cock. 

And this man wants Killua—has laid his suspicions on the line to have him, so why does it feel like a kiss, of all things, would be going to far? Can he? Is it allowed? 

"Hisoka?"

"Hm?"

Another inch. Killua moans, gives Hisoka more pressure around his neck and cock.

"Ah, fuck, can I—can we kiss?" 

Hisoka's brows pinch together, and he stills, halfway inside. 

Killua opens his mouth to dismiss the idea entirely, remembering where Hisoka's mouth has been and deterred by Hisoka’s hesitation. But then he nods, nearly imperceptible if Killua didn't have his hands around his neck. Given the green light, he goes for it, but carefully, like he might scare Hisoka away—this point of contact feeling more scandalous than the dick up his ass. 

Hisoka doesn't kiss back. Killua kisses him again, barely anything. What the hell? He tightens his fingers over the throbbing, tense veins on either side of his neck, waiting. This probably isn't the kind of pattern Illumi meant for Killua to pick up on, but here he is, choking Hisoka into kissing him back, licking along the seam of his soft lips and tasting only the remnants of the smoothest whiskey ever to grace his tongue. 

It works. That's all it takes for Hisoka to spring forward, catching Killua in a rough kiss and lifting him off his lap entirely only to thrust up into him with long, puncturing strokes. The sudden assault knocks the breath out of Killua, has him gasping and moaning into Hisoka's mouth. He has to break away, planting his hands on the window for support and rests his cheek atop Hisoka's head, the strong scent of a musky floral shampoo filling his nose as Hisoka holds him close and fucks him.

His eyes slip shut, and even in that darkness, the red glow of the limo stays with him. He's in a daze, overwhelmed, and unable to do little else. When he's laid down on the seat with Hisoka hovering above, still railing into him at a steady, punishing pace, all Killua can do is wrap his limbs around Hisoka and hold on. Once again, he's rendered helpless by his own pleasure; this is hardly the revenge fuck he had imagined.

Hisoka is in control and he doesn't want Killua's heels digging into his lower back. One leg is pried away and pushed against his chest, and then Hisoka is fucking into him filthily, so hard and fast, Killua's legs shake. His toes hit the ceiling with each thrust, and when Hisoka noses his blazer to the side and bites down on the meat of his shoulder, Killua's resulting moan is so loud there's no way the driver doesn't hear him.

"I'm gonna fill you up," Hisoka murmurs, grinding and burying his cock deep, "mmm, yes, take it, take it, squeeze around my cock—just like that. Good boy, there you go. You're mine now."

Killua shakes like a leaf beneath him, cock twitching so forcefully with his own orgasm. It's amazing, so rewarding and so fulfilling to be filled and fucked through it. He wants to cry when Hisoka pulls out.

"Hold it in," he commands, and belatedly, when something hot and wet slips down his crack, Killua realizes that Hisoka means the cum in his ass.

His eyes widen when Hisoka procures the butt plug, instinctively tensing up. "W-wait," he rasps, gruff and tired, "what are you doing?"

"What do you think?" Hisoka says it so casually as if Killua should know better than to ask such a silly question. "I don't want you to forget who you belong to."

His gaze is predatory as he leans down to lap up Killua's release splattered over his stomach. Shocked, Killua can't look away, a renewed flush building up his neck that wholly distracts him. The butt plug is cool against his entrance, and he shudders, scrambling away before Hisoka can start licking up the mess on his sensitive cock as well. 

"It's too much," says Killua when Hisoka levels him with a hard stare, slowly coming into his surroundings and realizing the limo has stopped moving. "Just—just put the plug back in, and I'll clean up in the bathroom. We're at The Eyre, right?"

Killua wants to head up to Hisoka’s penthouse right away; he has plans to cum again. It’s the least Hisoka could do.

"Well, since you wanted to leave early, I thought you would like to attend a special show instead. I heard our favorite dancer picked up a shift tonight. I wonder why—to blow off steam maybe? Don't you want to find out?"

Killua jumps up to his forearms and glances out the window. His pulse stutters into overdrive, the intoxication of his orgasm evaporating with each bleary blink of red light. Bold, neon letters flash and sparkle—a menacing wink in the night—spelling out Killua’s worst nightmare considering the circumstances: Heroes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check out the gorgeous fanart inspired by this chapter!  
> https://twitter.com/killuamorow/status/1324171873177997312?s=21
> 
> I'm a slut for comments, lmk what ya think!
> 
> also,,, i did rename the chapters. the inconsistency hurt me lol


	11. Bidding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heeeyyyy, long time no see~ thank you for all the wonderful comments on the last chapter and for your patience! I lost my job and got a new one within the last month. it has been a time, to say the least. 
> 
> also,,, thank you to my betas for their continued support and patience T_T

Heroes, the most highly regarded nightclub of the Romance Zone, beckons—sleek, upscale, and proud to 'celebrate local heroes by donating 10% of proceeds to disaster relief efforts and those that assist.' How nice. Gon owns a Prius and dances to support his local community; he's too good, too kind. Killua can't go in there with Hisoka's come stuffed in his ass, but his options are slim.

Watching Hisoka languidly lead the zipper of his pants up its track, a lingering heat more akin to a fireplace's quiet rumbling than a forest fire's chaos settles low in Killua's stomach. He's torn between morbid curiosity and worry. What are Hisoka's motives, if he has any at all? Why involve Gon? Is he being provocative or offering another test? 

Either way, Hisoka is hungry for a reaction, some sort of confirmation or rebellion, eyes roaming as he buttons Killua's dress shirt and then his blazer, each correction tethering Killua back to Earth as the sweet post-orgasm haze disperses. Sly fingers linger on his breast pocket, circling the iridescent button hosting the hidden camera. It's an idle touch; Killua is sure, but fear bubbles in his chest anyway. His pulse jumps when Hisoka speaks.

"You're a little tense. Not the usual response after an orgasm."

Hisoka tips forward to steal a kiss, and Killua awaits it too eagerly, eyes slipping closed. It's a solid distraction from the camera, and maybe he leans into it, yearning, but their lips don't meet. Only the tip of a nose brushes his own, his lips parted and left untouched. He flushes but doesn't pull away, meeting Hisoka's playful gaze and gloating grin.

"What's on your mind?"

Between them, an electric current buzzes and sizzles, but Killua feels that barrier again, a hesitation to surge forward and kiss the man that has him at his mercy.

"What's on _your_ mind?" he counters instead. "Why are we really here?"

"Why do you think?"

Killua looks away, pretends to think, Hisoka's warm breath puffing against the side of his face.

"Dunno. Can't decide if you're a manipulative asshole or just a meddlesome pervert."

"Would you like a hint?"

"Would you be so kind?" 

"I want you to be my olive branch," Hisoka explains, sitting back on his heels and dressing himself up once again, tucking his spent dick back into his pants and giving Killua space to process the request. "Gon clearly favors you. I don't blame him—look at you."

"Have you met Gon? He's not going to budge. Even if it's me."

"But as much as I'd like his forgiveness," Hisoka says as if Killua hadn't spoken, "I can't help but wonder: would he fuck you after I have if you asked nicely? What do you think? Perhaps it can be his makeshift truce?"

Killua had an inkling this was Hisoka's spontaneous plan. He smirks, tight and forced. He hopes Hisoka can't tell.

"Do you want to watch?" 

"No, I'll wait here. I want you to tell me how it feels when he fucks my cum out of your ass." 

The flush of mortified heat that rushes through him is palpable. This he can't hide, so he glances out the window and swallows around empty words. Visceral thrills stretch down to the pier, a strip of nightclubs and bars, candy-coated funhouses of depravity and vices. These places aren't just outlets for some but are others' lifeline, the very essence they need to get through daily drudgery. Killua wonders if any of these people's private excursions have crept into the light—dirty truths exposed.

"He won't do it. He'll refuse."

Hisoka's eyes flutter closed on the tail-end of a whimsical laugh. Killua looks at him—his lashes, long, darkly tinted, and wispy, cast shadows over the refined angles of his face. Hisoka meets his gaze, though now swimming with some bizarre intensity.

"Don't let him refuse."

"How exactly am I supposed to do that? He's his own person. I can't force him to do anything he doesn't want to do."

"Oh, I don't know," huffs Hisoka, a flutter of irritation spoiling his features, "were you not set to be the heir of the Zoldyck empire? I'm sure you can manage."

Killua swings his feet back to the limo floor and grimaces when the buttplug jostles inside him. It's wet in there. He can _feel_ it. In some other scenario, the idea of being passed from one man to another would get him all hot and bothered. Here, with Hisoka's taunting gaze and Gon unwittingly waiting for his night to get a lot more interesting, Killua only feels an increasing dread and dirtiness.

"What if I lie about what happens?"

Hisoka pours himself another glass of whiskey, swirls the amber liquid around with vague interest.

"Do you think that's a good idea? You can try and see if you're really curious."

Killua quietly slips his socked-feet back into his dress shoes, the right and then the left. He ties the laces under Hisoka's scrutiny, a dull ache at the base of his spine as he bends forward.

"If you're afraid he'll be upset, you shouldn't worry. He's more resilient than you give him credit for. Unless...you two aren't on good terms? Angry make-up sex is really something else, you know."

"I don't understand why Gon has to be involved like this. He'll never forgive you at this rate." 

Hisoka sips at his whiskey. "You're the one that asked for both of us, did you not?" 

Killua glances at the door. "That was a one-time request." 

"Don't be like that, Killua. You know you want to feel Gon inside you, fucking my cum out so he can fill you right back up. You're getting caught up on logistics."

A strong urge to hide twitches along the nerves in Killua's hands, but he remains unmoving and unwilling to give Hisoka any reaction. Hisoka continues his pursuit.

"You're such a little slut," he says with a whimsical sigh, "I've always liked that about you. There's no need to pretend otherwise—not with me."

"You don't even know me."

"Want to hear an interesting story?" Hisoka doesn't wait for Killua's response. "Illumi once told me about a phase of yours where he had to own up to exorbitant amounts for pay-per-view porn that had been accidentally purchased with the joint bank account. What a rookie slip up, but then again, you were only fourteen. I'm sure you know better now." He raises his glass to Killua, a one-sided cheer. "You've proven to have learned a lot from your late-night studies. So much for those silly rumors, hm?"

Killua falters under Hisoka's leering as the shock of this unknown third perspective lands. llumi often cleaned up after him, and Killua did watch a lot of porn while on business trips, all alone and pent up in his own suite. It was the buying it in stealth that was so enticing in those blank canvas-rooms. llumi always booked the most bland and clinical of hotels though still extravagant in their composition. Did he really make such an oversight when he was thrumming with the thrill of secrecy?

"That's not true," he says, grasping for limp straws of memory. 

"Are you calling your eldest brother a liar?" 

Hisoka's question is double-pronged, and Killua realizes it right away. He hesitates.

"Almost every fourteen year-old kid watches porn these days. That doesn't mean anything."

"What about the time Illumi caught you fucking an intern in the janitor's closet at a private banquet? Or are these simply tabloid rumors, too?"

"How—"

Killua's voice pitters out like a pissed-on flame. When had Illumi told Hisoka these things? He thought, if anything, they were rivals, not the type to gossip over expensive whiskey. Had there been a time when his brother was close enough to Hisoka to vent and rant—about Killua of all people? Illumi had given Killua nothing but shit for what happened a few months ago when he was doing the exact same thing? The only difference being that Hisoka has little to gain from airing Zoldyck dirty laundry; Killua had thought his own confidant could care less; he had certainly acted that way.

"Surprised? So was I when I first saw you waiting tables at Jaunty Flamingo. Killua Zoldyck, denounced heir to a sprawling empire, here on my turf. I never thought Illumi would deliver you to me on a silver platter, and yet here you are."

Hisoka's words hardly register. Killua shuffles through his brain for any sliver of the older man sat next to him. How long has he been lurking in the shadows, waiting patiently for his chance to pounce? Could he have been at an event or meeting? Did his lilting tone ever leak through the telephone? Were any of the business trips to the Romance Zone and Killua simply hadn't paid enough attention?

"You should go." Hisoka's voice cuts through Killua's claustrophobic thoughts, bringing Killua back to the confined, red-tinged space of the limo. "The auction is going to begin soon."

"Auction?" 

"Yes," purrs Hisoka. "To draw a bigger crowd on Sunday nights, Heroes auctions off the very best dancers for a one-on-one thirty-minute private session. It's everyone's favorite attraction, and it'll be Gon's first time. Whoever wins him can make any request as long as Gon is comfortable with it, and he's quite the adventurer. If you show up, he very well may choose a moment's pleasure over surrendering his pride. What do you think he'll choose?" 

Gon fulfilling the request of some strange stirs a deep-seated discomfort within Killua. Is this why Gon picked up a shift? Is he blowing off steam or soothing his jealousy with someone that is neither Killua nor Hisoka? To show up and drag Gon back into something he clearly wants no part of. When Killua is probably the last person Gon wants to see right now. It's probably the shittiest thing Killua has ever been asked to do. 

Killua is leaning toward Hisoka being a manipulative asshole, the more the scope of the situation sinks in.

"With what money?" he asks belatedly, skipping over Hisoka's question. "How would I win?"

From the same compartment the lube came from, Hisoka pulls out a thick wad of crisp cash that he stuffs into the pocket of Killua's blazer. Killua wonders if it is always there, waiting for a definite purpose until Hisoka sets his sights on something.

"You only have yourself to thank for such an opportunity," Hisoka says as he leans forward and lowers the partition. To the driver, he asks for Killua to be escorted inside. To Killua, he continues, "if you hadn't the marvelous idea to skip dinner and seduce me in the back of this limo, we wouldn't be here to support Gon at his first auction."

It's hard not to laugh. Killua is starting to learn another of Hisoka's patterns—his ruthless provocations. He, too, is trying to learn and conquer his opponent; he's looking for a breaking point.

"I haven't agreed to go."

"Aren't you supposed to be bending to my every whim to ensure the follow-through of your eldest brother's precious proposition?"

An indirect threat. Killua's eyes roll of their own accord at this point. "You say that as if you would actually cut the deal."

"You think I won't?"

"You said it yourself: you have plans. I doubt you would abandon them."

Hisoka sets down his glass, angling himself toward Killua with narrowed eyes. "Plans that involve Gon, too. When I pitched the thirty-day agreement, it was with him in my pocket. I didn't expect him to get up in arms over you being a bargaining chip. He thinks you're a slave, however willing you may be, but we both know you're not." Hisoka pauses to gauge Killua's reaction. When given nothing, he goes on, unbothered, egged on even, "Slaves don't have a choice, but you do. What's your brother's future to you? You've got no stakes in the business deal we're negotiating, and you said he's holding nothing over you, did you not? Your _sole_ mission is to fulfill your lustful desires and maybe, by proxy, enjoy the spoils of luxury you're no longer privy to. You can walk away at any moment."

Killua glances down at his hands, bloodied by the red glow. He's impressed by how quickly he has been backed into a corner. It's not often he stumbles across someone like Hisoka—someone that matches his game. It's terrifying. Looking back at him, his languid, easy smile reaching his eyes, Killua knows he has lost this round. He has to face Gon tonight with little to offer other than an apology and his cum-slick asshole, which is arguably not a lot considering the situation. 

As Killua accepts his fate, inching toward the door where the driver patiently waits, Hisoka says, "you know, if you would tell me what it is that keeps you loyal to Illumi's command, we can stop dealing in threats. I'd like to make you an offer."

Ah, so that's what this is about. Hisoka is good at this game, extending an out at the last minute. Too bad Killua knows better than to trade one bad card for another.

"Why are you so sure he's threatening me?"

"Your eyes are beautiful and wonderfully expressive," he says, dancing a finger around the lip of the minibar. "I see your cunning nature, your resignation, your arousal, and especially your fear. I have you pinned, and it's merely a matter of how long you want to struggle."

"Sounds like a load of bullshit to me," Killua says dryly, hand on the doorknob, "do you ever get tired of hearing your own voice?"

"And struggle you will," sighs Hisoka, a touch wistful as he taps fingers against the back window, summoning the driver from his post. "I suppose you like it."

The door swings open, and Killua exits the limo without a second glance. He follows the driver past the bouncer. They stop at security, holding their arms out in a perfect T as the metal detector passes over their bodies. It beeps near Killua's chest. The security guard and driver look at him.

"What? It's a copper button." The suspicious security guard leans in, and Killua respectfully backs away. "If you'd like an excuse to feel me up, be my guest."

Disgruntled, the security guard begrudgingly lets them pass. They continue down the dark hallway plastered with old promotional posters and neon arrows showing the way to various venue areas. Overall, Heroes isn't much different than expected: the music is grating—the standard mimicry of a bone-rattling heartbeat and terrible synth—and the dancefloor is packed, the pillared cages around the perimeter lack a certain Gon Freecss. The main stage is empty aside from a lone pole and a thick, suspicious hose coming from backstage, but the bar is bustling and beautiful with its wrapped shelves of booze. The driver shares a few hushed words with the bartender, and then Killua is left alone in his unease. 

Ordering a double whiskey neat, Killua hopes to instill in himself some confidence he'd been stripped of at the skilled hands of Hisoka. The harsh initial punch always shocks his sugar-inclined palette, but he finds himself eager for the sting to subside and the lingering low blaze to soothe his throat. It grounds him for all of twenty or so seconds before he's thinking of Hisoka. Of all the things he should be currently worrying about. He's idly clenching around the butt plug and Hisoka's cum, smiling bitterly to himself until, down the way, some scraggly yet well-kept man winks at him. Killua sneers and turns his back toward the bar, blankly observing the crowd. Similar to Perks, Heroes leaves little room for one to think. The music is so loud and intrusive that it rattles the legs of the stool Killua sits on, a dull throbbing alongside the dull ache Hisoka left him with. All he can really think about is how, right now, he's opting to potentially—perhaps most definitely—hurt Gon instead of risking Alluka's future. 

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!" booms a raucous voice, "welcome to Heroes weekly auction! I'm sure many of you know the drill, but what's the harm in running through it once again? Our heroes run through their drills daily!"

The auctioneer carries on, but Killua doesn't listen. A line of highly hazardous firefighters march onto the stage with Gon as the leader. He devours the rest of his whiskey, all of his organs attempting to crawl up his throat, the liquor a meek opposition. It's true that he gets fuzzy inside when he sees Gon, but this is the first time that sickly sweet fuzz is joined by a poisonous foreboding rather than a kindling of warmth in his stomach. 

Gon wears little aside from a shit-eating grin: thick black boots, tiny black, yellow speedo, bright red suspenders, and a firefighter's hat. It all makes sense: he's not a stripper because there's not much else to take off. Nightclub dancer it is… He stops at the farthest end of the stage, flexing his stupidly oiled biceps and then rubbing his stupidly large hands down his washboard abs, that blinding smile of his rendering Killua a petrified statue hanging off a bar stool. This Gon is different from any version Killua has seen before: he's aggressively cocky, hips jutted forward as he peacocks about, well-aware that he looks incredible. His fingers dance through the hairs trailing down into his speedo as he throws a suggestive wink to the crowd. 

Vaguely, Killua is aware that others are on stage, but they're insignificant background characters in comparison. Gon's stage presence alone shrouds the rest of them in irrelevant darkness, and here Killua is, sent to ruin Gon's fucking night and stomp his ignorant bliss into a smolder.

The auction begins at the opposite end of the line, clearly saving the best for last, which is shit for Killua's nerves. He can't help but run through the possible scenarios that will come from the use of the wad of cash sat snug in his breast pocket, more weighty and daunting than the button camera and it's now useless reel (except he may or may not jerk off to whatever footage he manages to capture tonight). Of the possible scenarios conjured, all of them unfairly skew toward negativity, and Killua knows that it's because he wants Gon to reject him here and now—let him live out his descent into chaos alone. But another more needy part of himself hopes that Gon will forgo his stubborn streak, opting to stick it out together. It's selfish; Killua doesn't deserve it, but he can still hope. Sometimes good things are given to bad people. 

Midway through the auctioning, Killua orders a second double whiskey neat and then another. He's inebriated by the time the bottom of the fourth glass greets him. He closes his tab and slaps Hisoka's money down on the bar before he fucks this whole thing up even more than it already is by getting wasted. Each short performance put on by the dancers goes by in a blur, Killua filtering in and out, tugged between a never-ending carousel of worries and the bizarre spectacle before him. There is juggling and pole dancing and even someone hooking their ankles behind their head. 

It's all quite impressive, and he considers telling Gon about Alluka, how it's her happiness on the line, not Killua's, but then Gon returns to the stage. He saunters across, toward the pole gleaming in the middle while sliding his thumbs beneath the suspenders—up, down and up again, stopping at his nipples. He stretches the springy fabric with a roll of his hips before letting it snap back against his bare skin with a pop loud enough to resonate over the thumping music. Gon throws his head back, putting on a convincing show as he drops to his knees and grinds against the pole. The dips and swells of his muscular physique glisten as he grips the tall, silver shaft, bottom lip bitten between his teeth.

Under no circumstances would Kilua have been prepared for such a sight. It is equal parts embarrassing and arousing. In a misguided blip of jealousy and pride, Killua is eager to win Gon for the night. As the bids climb and climb, well into the high hundreds, he realizes no one in this room will be happy when he wins. Subtly thumbing through the cash in his pocket, he figures it's best to make this painless by bidding ridiculously high sooner rather than later.

"Nine hundred fifty? Nine hundred fifty?" The auctioneer calls, the spotlight anchored above the stage, darting to and fro. "Do we have anyone for nine hundred fifty? Going once? Twice…"

"TWO THOUSAND!"

Killua's voice rings out into silence. Well, as silent as it could be given the circumstances. Up on stage, Gon startles, eyes searching in his direction but landing nowhere. That is, until the damn spotlight comes down on Killua, illuminating him as he shields his eyes; this must be karma, and karma's rebuttal is unforgiving. The exact moment Killua sees Gon and Gon, thus, sees Killua, is when space and time rupture entirely. At least, that's what it feels like. The irritated confusion on Gon's face is pungent, far-reaching, enough to add fuel to the anxious fire raging beneath Killua's skin. So much for being a firefighter.

"Going once, going twice, and SOLD! To the regal gentleman at the bar! And what a lucky gentleman you are having won yourself a night with Heroes most infamous hot commodity!"

The parade marches on as Gon quickly recovers, mounting the large hose left on stage. Holding it poised between his legs like a terrifyingly giant, flaccid cock, Gon bucks his hips forward as confetti bursts from the hose and rains down on the crowd. Killua holds out his hand, collecting colorful paper-flakes as his stomach twists sourly. The spotlight disappears. 

Guided by the auctioneer, the lucky bid winners line up near the back hallway where the private rooms await them. Killua goes, and the sea of people part. Envious and appreciative eyes alike follow in his wake, clinging to his ankles like stubborn seaweed, trying to pull him to their depths as if he's not already walking among them.

"Two thousand dollars," the auctioneer says at the front of the line, "but first, have you participated in the auction before?"

"No."

"Have you taken part in any of Heroes' celebrations before?"

"No."

"Then please fill out this waiver"—a clipboard tattered with stickers from local venues is thrust toward Killua—"Once in the private room, you will go over the rules listed on the second page with your chosen talent to ensure that you understand our policy. Thank you! Next!"

Killua ambles over to a mostly empty area where the resident wallflowers ogle him curiously. It's hardly a moment's repose with the whiskey slowly blurring everything into a falsely palatable haze. Signing his name at the bottom of the paper is perhaps the most damning of contracts he's ever surrendered to. 

Money and acknowledgements exchanged for thirty minutes with Gon Freecss himself, Killua heads down the hallway to private room number five. It's an eerily familiar walk of shame, one that makes him hesitate on wobbly legs, dreadful wetness seeping down one thigh. The door is heavier than it should be as he heads inside. Gon stands in the middle of the room wrapped by a semi-circle booth seat, gripping the back of a relatively simple metal chair, jaw tight and his big, syrupy eyes swirling beneath a seedy glow of red light. Killua is guiltily reminded of Hisoka waiting in the limo under the same primal hue. Gon speaks first.

"You look good, Killua. Beautiful, actually."

Killua wants to say the same. He itches to reach out and touch. Gon is right in front of him, yet they're a million miles apart. His response window is small, Gon obviously on edge; he plows on.

"The rules are simple," he says tersely, rounding the chair and plopping down, spreading his thighs and splaying his hands over the thick muscle, "sit here like this. No touching, no spitting, no filming, no recording. If at any point I feel uncomfortable, I'm allowed to walk out of here and refuse further service, at which point you'll only receive half of your bid in return."

"Gon—"

"If you happen to have a request, you have to tip first. I am obligated to fulfill one request of your choosing as long as I'm comfortable with it."

"Wait—"

Gon jumps to his feet and steers Killua into his spot. He leans over him, expression unreadable. Killua gulps. "Why aren't you with Hisoka? What happened to dinner?"

"Dinner ended early—"

"So he could bring you here? "

"Can you stop interrupting for one second?" Killua gripes, surprised by his own outburst, "let me speak!"

"Sorry."

Gon releases his hold on Killua's shoulders, stepping back and somehow looking so unbelievably intimidating yet sexy in a fucking cheap speedo and tacky red suspenders. Now able to speak, Killua looks to his shoes, hoping he'll find the right words wound around the laces or engraved at the toe. 

"No, I'm sorry," he says eventually, "I called you an idiot."

Gon very earnestly points out, "to be fair, it wasn't the first time, probably not the last."

That's a fair point. Killua crosses his arms over his chest, intent on laying all his apologies on the table before anything else. Gon needs to know none of what he's about to present has anything to do with that night.

_"And_ I'm sorry for joking about you dying because that was insensitive considering your dad," he blurts, the words now coming of their own fruition, with little thought much to his horror, "I'm sorry for even showing up here, Gon, I swear I'm not—"

"Hey—"

"—don't interrupt me."

"Have you been drinking?"

Killua looks to the wall, dances up the velvet curtains concealing nothing more than a blank wall. "Does it matter?"

"I guess not, but you're flushed, and you look hot. Did you and Hisoka have sex?"

"Why don't you let me talk, and you'll find out, idi—" Killua cuts himself off. He huffs and looks harder at the curtains as if he could dissect each fiber with thought alone. It was a useless decorative detail, too gaudy.

"On the way here?" 

"Didn't I pay for a lap dance or something? Why am I being interrogated right now?"

Gon doesn't laugh. "Did you want to come here, or was it Hisoka's idea?"

Killua glances at him and bristles at his intensity. "It was Hisoka's idea, but I agreed to it. I wanted to apologize."

It's not a lie. 

"And what does Hisoka want?"

It's a loaded question, and tiptoeing around everything all the time is getting boring. Yet the purpose of this impromptu visit is hard to admit. Interrogations are nothing new—some of the investors were brutal—but this is yet another new arena. A strange one where the reminder of earlier endeavors leak tacky yet slick against his thigh and his interrogator isn't in a suit, though still in uniform. Gon's nipples are so pointed, like lasers, and the swell of his pecs strains the suspenders. No business suit ever made him so flustered.

Hisoka wants a curious challenge, something to crush or be crushed by. He won't take it wrong either way, and perhaps that's why the Romance Zone has been so successful. He's a calculated investor but spontaneous in his approach—adaptable. His threats were vague like whatever happens in this private room is the real threat. And Killua feels it stirring inside and plugged, festering. He scrubs his hands over his face.

He's impressed by Hisoka's perceptiveness, but that doesn't make his empty, whiskey-sloshed stomach any less uneasy; he had one glass too many, too quick, filled with all the wrong things. But this is his game with Hisoka and though Gon shouldn't be dragged back in like this, Killua can't risk losing Hisoka's interest. Hisoka demands pushback, and if Killua were to roll over or run, he'd lose the deal and Alluka's future. He's more than enough for Hisoka; he can handle this.

But Gon hasn't budged, his arms now crossed and mirroring Killua's defense. This is the same guy that has stars for freckles and tries to suffocate Killua with his body when they sleep. Killua desperately wants to protect Gon, but Killua feels he owes as much of the truth that he can compromise.

"He thought you'd change your mind about him if I show you how much I enjoyed him, and if you...enjoyed me, too. He wants to share, and I want that, too."

" _What_?"

Killua looks up at the ceiling, watches it flutter near his peripheral vision. "You heard me."

"What does he want you to show me?"

"Get creative, Gon. Do I really need to say it?"

"Killua, why are you so embarrassed? Did he…"

"Yes, yes he did," he barks, shifting away from the ceiling to watch vague realization dawn on Gon's face for some instinctual masochistic desire to make himself feel even worse. Neither of them knows exactly what the other means by that, and Gon blinks stupidly. Then he's kneeling between Killua's legs and reaching out for his face, and Killua is trying to pull away, unsatisfied by Gon's lack of reaction, his mind supplying helpful images of Hisoka in the same position. Gon keeps crowding in closer, determined.

"Hey, hey," he soothes, his features etched into lines of anger and concern and something Killua can't look at. "What is it, Killua?"

It's worse that Gon is trying to be strong by relegating his anger elsewhere, literally dropping to his knees and searching so earnestly for an answer. Can Gon read him, too? He's just as perceptive and nosy as Hisoka.

"I—" 

The words come out thick and rickety. Killua doesn't know why he's about to cry, but he can feel it tickling at the corner of his eyes, constricting his throat and stirring the liquor inside his stomach like a witch's brew. Maybe it's that Gon wants to understand; he accepts Killua as he is with little judgment and always, always, open arms.

"Killua," whispers Gon, rising up to embrace him as best he can, "you're crying."

"No shit!" he shouts, bringing his arms loosely around Gon so he can wipe at his eyes.

"Why?"

"Because! This is so unfair to you. I know you don't want to be involved, but I can't exactly tell Hisoka to fuck off!"

Killua inhales a sob, and Gon rubs his back, a soothing repetitive motion forcing out more silent tears rather than quelling them. "It's not your fault."

"I brought you into this from the beginning."

"I'm the one that pursued you."

"You don't understand."

"Help me understand," Gon murmurs. 

Killua sucks up yet another embarrassing sound and buries his face in Gon's neck, holding on tight in hopes that Gon's solidity may somehow steady him. He smells good, woodsy and warm. If Killua could crawl inside of anyone, it'd be Gon, but he would never do that, not with all of the poison in his own mind. 

"I don't want you to do anything out of obligation or because you feel like it's the right thing to do," he sobs, another slew of damning words tumbling free without permission, "I want you only if you want me, but that's not fair of me to ask and—"

"What are you even saying?" Gon yanks away this time, seizing Killua by the wrists before he can cover his red, wet face. 

"I don't know," Killua groans, eyes falling shut. 

He tilts his head up again, hoping the tears and snot drain away somewhere as he pulls himself together so he doesn't unload more unnecessary shit onto Gon, who is taking this all in stride because he's such a good fucking person and—

"Killua."

—he should have done the right thing: he should have stood up to Hisoka, should have told him to fuck off and refuse to approach Gon like this at his job and—

"Killua."

—he should have stood up to Gon, too, and told him to fuck off as soon as Illumi came into the picture because it would have been for the best. He should have known better than to assume that things would—

"Killua! Look at me!"

Gon clamps down on Killua's shoulders and lightly shakes him. Killua startles, shocked to see Gon now hovering overhead, blocking out the ceiling with his wild hair a jagged halo. 

"Sorry," Gon says, looking bashful, "but you need to listen to me, okay?"

Killua nods dutifully. God, he's really here tipsy and crying in a private room at Heroes with cum leaking from his ass in front of fucking Gon Freecss, throwing a pity party over something he has little control over.

"It's not out of obligation, and it may not even be the right decision. I _want_ to be here. With you and for you."

The blood rushing to his face tingles like when he eats sour gummy worms on a clean palette. Gon really has to stop saying these things.

"Stop."

"No." And naturally, he refuses. "I know all of this is crazy, and I might not like everything that happens, but I'm here, okay? I'm not going anywhere unless you really want me to, but even then, I'll probably stay. No matter what. I mean that. I like you, Killua."

"Why?" Killua can hardly meet Gon's gaze. "Why no matter what? You don't know all that I've done or what I will do in the future. You can't just _say_ those kinds of things."

Gon will never understand how far he has fallen and how hard it is to get back up again and stand proudly.

"I know that for whatever you've done or will do, there was a reason. I'll always want to know that reason, and if there isn't one, I'd give you the benefit of the doubt."

"Gon! What did I _just_ say?"

"You asked me why," Gon remarks, his bushy eyebrows crinkled together and a slight pout to his lips. 

"It was a rhetorical question, idiot." 

"You know, I think when you call me idiot, you really mean babe or something."

"I meant what I said."

When Gon doesn't say anything, Killua makes a decision; he asks, "So, do you...want me? Like this? Will you?"

_Will you forgive Hisoka? If not, could you at least show me you mean it? It can be our secret._

The silence that cloaks them is suffocating, Gon's genuine surprise enough for Killua to stand up and meet Gon nose-to-nose before turning around and bracing himself against the chair with a knee hiked up on the seat, one hand over the chair's back, his knuckles white peaks as the other fumbles to unbutton his pants and shimmy them down just enough. His dick, hardly committing to his fervent need, flops out lamely into the stuffy air as he sticks his ass out for Gon, wondering just how much of Hisoka's cum has leaked out. 

"Killua," Gon breathes, sounding pained.

"Didn't you say you like me? Show me, Gon. Should I make it a request?"

Gon's hands come to Killua's hips, warm and stable against clammy skin, and Killua's heart flutters as Gon rests his head between his shoulder blades. Killua is held like that for a painfully quiet, long moment before Gon is shaking his head. He pulls up Killua's pants with a quiet sigh. Killua doesn't move; he grips the chair tighter, his chest constricting as if the air has been sucked from the room, shocked.

"Killua?"

Of course Gon wouldn't do such a thing; he'd be giving into Hisoka and the twisted game they're playing. 

"It's fine," he says, too-aware of the slight slur of his voice, "I'm gonna go."

"Don't get the wrong idea—"

"—no, no, you're right. This is fucked up. Just—"

Killua finally moves, half-focused on zipping up his pants, the other half trying to brush off the stab to his ego. Gon rounds the chair, drawing Killua's frazzled attention.

"I would," he clarifies, hands wringing out a sobering amount of concern, "I would, but you're drunk, and you've been crying and Hisoka—"

"I'm not drunk," Killua says, but he's definitely inebriated and leaking in more ways than he'd currently like. Preferably, he'd like to not leak at all. Definitely not like this. He draws another breath, pulls himself further together like a scattered marionette doll, just as Illumi taught him.

"Even if you were sober, this isn't the time or place, so—"

"—and so what if Hisoka came inside me and brought me here to see if you'd fuck me. _I_ want it, Gon. Forget about Hisoka for a minute and—"

"Killua," interjects Gon, shaking his head, "I care about you. _I care about you._ That's why I won't."

Oh. 

Killua wipes away stubborn snot with the sleeve of his blazer. Illumi would be pissed. Gon watches carefully, like he's assessing a wild animal. He must pass the assessment because Gon bridges the space between them, though the chair's back keeps them from aligning. He takes Killua's face in his hands and presses their foreheads together, so very serious. Suddenly hot and suffocated in such a small room and such tight fucking clothes, Killua shuffles awkwardly. It's difficult to look into those wonderful eyes properly. His vision is all wobbly and wet, and he's embarrassed by his own tears and wanting to be fucked despite it all. He doesn't want Hisoka to be right, but then he'd be a hypocrite for faulting Gon for the same desire.

"But," and here comes the caveat, "how can I forgive Hisoka for treating you like this?" 

Killua can't lie and say he wanted to come here, though it would be his word against Hisoka's. Gon definitely wouldn't believe Hisoka over him, but that wouldn't be right. 

"Like what? I agreed to this."

"But why did you? If you had the choice to come here tonight, would you have? Last time you said it wasn't really your scene."

"I'm sorry I didn't come before," Killua admits, the flow between his brain and mouth still too free-flowing for his liking, but he can't stem it, "this really isn't my first choice of venue, and I didn't understand Hisoka or why you were with him."

"And now?"

"He's… interesting. I judged too soon. _Not to say_ he isn't still a perverted megalomaniac. He is, but—" he hesitates, wanting so badly to close the gap between them, "something is tempting about him that I can't quite shake, and I want you to, too. Can we—all be together for now?"

They stand there for a moment, breathing in each other's breath. Eventually, Gon nods, their heads bumping together when he does so. A distant timer trills, and the spell is broken. Gon pulls away.

"Time's up," he mumbles, "can I come over later? Will you be home?"

"Yeah, there's a spare key taped beneath the welcome mat."

"You just have it there for anyone to find?"

"I'm waiting for an excuse to use the knife under my pillow."

Gon looks relieved. "You're making jokes. That's a good sign."

Killua rolls his eyes. "Who said it was a joke? And anyway, this was one moment of weakness. It won't happen again."

"It's okay if it does."

"But it won't."

+

Killua returns to the limo after some much-needed time to himself, only accompanied by the echo of the private bathroom Gon guided him to before heading back to work. A fresh wave of embarrassment had attempted to drown him as he cleaned himself as best as possible given a toilet, sink, and a few towels. Now he feels sobered and level-headed, renewed with the butt plug snug in his pant pocket instead of his ass. He doesn't care that its shape is odd and protruding from his thigh.

Hisoka regards him quietly, having looked up from his phone as if summoned by some mundanity. Upon further inspection, his impassivity shifts into what Killua would call concern if he didn't know better.

"How'd it go?" he asks tentatively. "You took longer than expected."

"As good as it could have gone, but it's done. You got what you wanted."

"Hm. Have I?" 

"As much as you'll get tonight. Don't be greedy."

Hisoka's answering smile is wry. "Is it fair to assume you're not going to tell me what happened?"

"I never said I would go into detail about it."

"Very well. I'm surprised you went in the first place." Hisoka tucks his phone away where the cash had once been and points toward the remaining sum still in Killua's possession. "Keep the rest."

"Already planned on it." A heavy silence settles in the air. Killua takes the bait or lack thereof. "There's no consequence, no other threat? You don't want any details? _Nothing_?"

That answer seems to confirm something to Hisoka, who cocks his head, imperceptible aside from obvious intrigue.

"Well, I know two things just from you sitting here now. One, you didn't do exactly as I asked. Two, I already assumed you care for Gon, but that whatever Illumi has on you is of more importance than whatever emotional distress Gon may have endured tonight. All that's left is if you've considered telling me what I want to know."

"I'll think about it. Maybe." Killua folds his arms behind his head and kicks his feet up into Hisoka's lap, essentially declaring war. "Will you take me home now? I'm exhausted."

Hisoka welcomes the intrusion, grinning. "Next time, then."

+

Gon wakes Killua once when the shampoo and soap bottles clatter to the bathtub floor, and then again when he accidentally knees him in the back, climbing under the blankets. Gon mutters a quick apology and drapes one arm over Killua's stomach, pulling him back until they're flush together, his other arm weaving beneath the pillow and then bumping Killua's head around in a not-so-subtle search.

"What the fuck are you looking for?"

Gon laughs, his breath hot against Killua's skin. He's doing that stupid thing where he nuzzles into Killua's neck as if to huff the world's best drug. Killua stiffens when Gon finds the bite mark Hisoka left and subsequently relaxes when Gon simply kisses the broken skin.

"Where's that knife you were talking about?" He asks teasingly.

His voice is deep and rumbling, a comfort that rivals the lazy way Gon pets over his stomach, wavering between casual and suggestive. 

Killua mumbles sleepily, "don't be stupid. There hasn't been a knife any other time you've slept in my bed.

"That's true." Gon gives up his search easily, kissing along Killua's pulse instead. "So," he drawls, "is the spare key a one-time use, or?"

Killua twists around so he can gauge Gon's expression. He doesn't want to mistake playful teasing for a genuine question, but his eyes are slow to adjust.

"If I say no, will you use it regularly?"

"Like every day?"

"If you want."

"Killua," Gon whines, kicking his feet out only to entangle their legs, "do _you_ want me to?"

It only gets harder to look Gon in the eyes, but at the same time, Killua feels closer to him, safer.

"Obviously. Do you?"

" _Obviously_ ," Gon mocks, his cheeky grin audible.

They lay like that for a while, Killua drifting to sleep again when Gon's soft touches meander down his spine. He's nearly there, the steep drop-off of unconsciousness rushing toward him like the edge of a river and the beginning of a waterfall.

"I'm sorry," Gon blurts, startling Killua back into reality with a frustrated groan, "sorry! I just feel like I need to say it again. And I want you to know that I left to clear my head and not because—"

Killua puts a finger to Gon's lips. "Shhh."

Gon pouts. "Hey, if you don't want to be interrupted, then you shouldn't—"

"—no apology needed. I'm just—" Killua struggles, clearing his throat, "It's in the past, and I'm just happy you're here now. And now is sleep time, okay?"

Gon gets that look in his eye; it's like looking into the sun—blinding and all-encompassing. Killua is beginning to suspect Gon doesn't want sleep time. 

"I'm happy to be here. Just us."

"Yeah."

"Just you and me," Gon lilts, his tone as meandering as his fingers now settling low on Killua's back, "no knife for you to potentially stab me with. _Just us_."

Killua thumps Gon on the forehead. They laugh and lapse into silence. Gon thumbs at Killua's hip, sweeping over the prominent bone. Killua sighs contentedly, eyes fluttering closed.

"Did it feel good?"

Killua's eyes fly open. Gon isn't even looking at him. "Are you doing this on purpose?"

"Doing what on purpose?"

"Nevermind. Did _what_ feel good?"

"When Hisoka fucked you. Did he make you feel good at least?"

Gon always knows just what to say to make Killua short-circuit.

"Yeah, it was good," he mumbles, shuffling closer until he can press his hot face into Gon's chest. 

Gon is wearing a shirt for some reason, one that smells and feels oddly like one of Killua's own. Gon didn't even ask, but something about that makes Killua melt inside, like a popsicle left out on the sidewalk on a hot summer's day. Gon curls around him, hand now smoothing over his ass as he kisses the top of Killua's head. His skin is still raw from where Hisoka spanked him, the nerves under Gon's palm pulsing more aggressively than his heart.

"I don't mind, you know," says Gon into the fluff of Killua's hair, "if you really want me to fuck cum out of your ass, I will, but first—"

Killua rears back and smacks his hand over Gon's mouth, absolutely scandalized. "Would your aunt appreciate that filthy mouth of yours?"

Gon waggles his eyebrows and licks at Killua's palm. When Killua doesn't budge, he pries his hand away, laughing. 

"Probably not, but I think _you_ appreciate this mouth more than you let on."

"Ugh, shut up, and no, I won't make you."

"How'd you know I was going to say that?"

"Sleep. Time."

"Fine."

Killua flops onto his back and closes his eyes. Body electrified and finely tuned: crickets chirp outside, the fridge buzzes, and Gon breathes. He can feel it, thoughts bubbling in Gon's head, rising to the surface and about to push past his lips.

"Killua—"

"—what do you want _now?"_

"Did you like my dance tonight? Was my costume sexy?"

Killua thinks of the footage from the camera. Mental breakdown aside, he's looking forward to reviewing the night—a strange way to self-flagellate for his embarrassing display of insecurity. 

"Yes. You were and _are_ so very sexy. _Goodnight_ , _Gon_."

Gon wraps around him in the usual fashion.

"Goodnight, Killua."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i definitely struggled writing this (it's a regular occurrence at this point. I'm way too hard on myself lmao) though i did enjoy the process so drop a comment letting me know what you enjoyed in this chapter. thank you for reading! 💞
> 
> follow me on twitter if you'd like: /thatonepeach


	12. Lazing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heeeyyy, thank you all for your patience! if you're still reading and baring with my now erratic updating schedule i appreciate you so, so much ;~;

Killua startles awake, hot, achy, and embedded in crumpled sheets by a heavy, snoring Gon whose coarse hair tickles his chin. The familiar shape and smell of him filter in as slow and gentle as the morning light dappling through the splintered blinds shrouding the lone bedroom window. Groggy and disoriented, Killua pets his own shirt stretched taut over the swell of Gon’s back, trying to further quell the spike of adrenaline coursing through him.

He blinks absently at the ceiling, parsing out abstract images from the raised texture when it hits him: memories of a not-so-distant dream where he lay in a familiar bed at the Eyre nose-to-nose with Hisoka. The comfort Gon’s presence offers quickly dissipates, but he doesn’t move away. In fact, he pulls Gon closer as he mulls over the details of the dream, allowing them to become tangible in his mind—how his dream self cuddled with dream-Hisoka in Egyptian-cotton sheets as they whispered into the night like sickly sweet lovers, the older man’s voice a lilting lullaby and his eyes as mysteriously intriguing as the moon. 

What a ridiculously hopeful, stupid dream.

And yet Killua’s heart rate picks up again just thinking of Hisoka’s cunning smile. Gon suddenly shifts—irrationally, Killua’s monkey brain suggests Gon can hear his every thought amid the throes of unconsciousness—and his heart stutters in its quick march. He peers down at Gon, assessing his breathing as if he’ll be caught red-handed if those round, amber eyes found him, but Gon is still asleep, chest rising and falling against his own at a steady pace, peaceful and unaware. Killua sighs and finds the softer tufts of Gon’s hair at the nape of his neck, combing through it absently.

The real Hisoka isn’t tame and sweet like dream-Hisoka. Killua shouldn’t confuse the two. Dreams stir falsified emotions; the brain doesn’t know the difference between real and fake, and much like the intoxicating haze of an approaching climax that often has him watching very bizarre porn, the dream means little when standing on the solid grounds of clarity and acuity that wash away hazes of heightened feelings.

Besides, Killua isn’t stupid enough to assign any real value to Hisoka. The man likes to sleep alone and revels in solitude. He may have pounded the ‘you’re-mine’ sentiment into Killua quite literally, but that was obvious. Of course Killua belongs to Hisoka in a clinical, matter-of-fact way that’s set to soon expire. That’s nothing compared to how he belongs to Gon. 

Though, his belonging to Gon is rather arbitrary and fleeting, isn’t it?

When it comes to relationships—friends, lovers, anything beyond a quick fuck or corporate Killua only has his bond with Alluka to draw from. And yes, it’s definite and strong and unerring, but they’ve been close from childhood. There was little to construct, no blueprint to draft. With Gon, he’s rushed into constructing a damn cruise ship with no plan, only his heart’s reckless elation (and his dick’s narrow-minded guidance). Is it even smart to build a ship without a name? Seems like a sure-fire way to invoke some sailor’s curse or something. And they’re already in deep, or maybe it’s just Killua. He gave Gon a spare key and it was accepted without any questions asked, but Gon could just be going with the flow—a flow that could switch up as quick as the wind and carry them in opposite directions. 

Killua found it hard to overlook the possibility. Words of warning have been drilled into him—steel beams meant to reinforce his watchful eye and never-ending discernment.

“Shh!” 

Gon slaps at Killua’s face, causing him to nearly jumps out of his skin. 

“You’re thinking way too loud,” Gon complains gruffly.

Killua quickly arrests Gon’s offending hand and presses a kiss against his knuckles. “Well, you snore too loud.”

“Can’t control that.”

“It’s not that easy to control thoughts either.”

“What’s there to think about so early in the morning, anyway?” 

The room is still doused in a mellow blue, cool and quiet save for the dull bustling of Monday traffic. Killua kisses Gon’s forehead next. 

“Nothing, _dear_.”

“If you say so.”

Gon shifts and Killua winces when more of Gon’s weight crushes him further into the mattress. Gon peeks up at him through his stubby, curly lashes.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m a little sore. It’s no big deal.” 

No big deal becomes just that, Gon forfeiting their collective warmth to the cold room when he throws off the heavy blanket shielding them. He rights himself into a sitting position, and Killua is surprised to see that Gon has also stolen a pair of his boxers. He’s about to comment on it when Gon pokes at the imprint of teeth on his shoulder and prods at his ribs, thorough with his inspection. Killua rolls away and hunkers down flat on his stomach in an attempt to escape, uncaring that his boxers have rolled up on one side. 

“Killua,” Gon gasps, “your ass is so... _red.”_

Naturally, Gon touches and Killua glares over his shoulder, embarrassed and slightly turned on. His morning wood turns into a more intent pressure, Gon’s palm hot against his already warm and smarted skin. He shivers as Gon smooths his hand up and down, freshly cracked calluses from his time up in the mountains catching and eliciting an anxious thrill up Killua’s spine.

“You let Hisoka spank you,” Gon says, quiet and wondrous, an obvious tinge of jealousy, “did you...like it?”

Killua buries his face into the pillows. He’d rather not think about it after the dream he had. He already feels bad enough having asked Gon to set aside his pride and agree to make amends with Hisoka. Killua doesn’t even want to think about that and how it may go. 

“Yeah,” Killua admits into the pillowcase. 

“What else do you like?” 

Gon kisses over his shoulder blade, up the side of his neck, now kneading at his ass. 

“I don’t know.”

“How do you not know?”

“I just don’t! I’ve—I’m not as well-traveled as you are, okay?”

Gon chuckles, his voice low and sweet in Killua’s ear. “Well-traveled? You’ve been to way more places than I have.”

“You know what I mean— _well-versed_.”

“You mean I’m more experienced than you?”

“Aren’t you? With a new fling in every city?” 

“Were you not doing the same?”

“I wasn’t traveling for fun. There was hardly any time or freedom to sightsee let alone fuck around with anyone in any experimental way. If anything,” Killua says, wiggling his ass teasingly, “my expertise is quickies. Not much room for experimentation when you’re trying to finish as fast as possible.”

“You do make me cum fast.”

“You cum fast in general.”

“No, you just last insanely long unless I suck your dick. How can you last that long and do quickies?”

“I can make myself cum quick when need be. Wanna see right now?”

“No,” mumbles Gon, and then he’s pulling Killua’s boxers down his legs and spreading his sensitive ass, squeezing at it as he kisses a trail down to his lower back.

Killua stiffens. “What are you doing?” 

“Gonna finger you and see how long you can last instead. Can I?”

“Sure, but—”

“—are you sore here, too?”

Gon presses against Killua’s hole, rubbing slow little circles without entering. It feels good, though Killua is, in fact, a little sore from how long he’d been stretched and how hard he’d been fucked. He lifts his hips a little, inviting more.

“Killua,” Gon chides lowly, forcing his hips back down, “be patient. It’s the least you could do.”

“ _The_ _least I could do—_ ” Killua’s voice drops off when Gon pushes his finger in dry, dragging in and out agonizingly as if to make a point.

And Gon is right. It’s the least he could do considering Gon is here in the midst of a situation where most people would probably cut their losses and opt-out of being a manipulated chess piece in a game far beyond anything someone could be reasonably asked to put up with. Gon is so right, but that doesn’t keep Killua from reaching to the nightstand and tossing a near-empty bottle of lube back at him.

Gon catches it and pats Killua on his hips. “Flip over. I wanna see your face.”

“Why?” groans Killua as he rolls onto his back and shields his face in spite, spreading his legs apart so Gon can’t do it for him. “I get all red and shit.”

“It’s cute.”

“It’s not.”

“Trust me, it is.”

Gon pries his hands away to assault him with chaste kisses until he’s laughing and trying to squirm away.

“Okay, okay,” Killua huffs, “I get it.”

“Good,” Gon says and settles in between his legs. It’s Killua’s favorite place for Gon to be.

But not when he’s blase almost with how unhurriedly he lubes up his fingers, how he slicks up Killua’s hard length and plays with his balls until they’re glistening. Killua keeps his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, nibbling at dry bits of tender skin as Gon gawks unabashedly at him all naked and exposed. It’s not like Gon hasn’t seen him before, but the leisurely pace of this morning’s play makes him a little nervous. He wonders how long he can realistically last—he seems to cum quickly and with little effort when his ass is played with.

Gon finally slips in a wet finger up to the knuckle and Killua clenches around it, biting back a moan. Gon smiles up at him, petting inside him and crooking up to push insistently at his prostate. It’s not a blinding-hot kind of pleasure yet, but it’s intimate, a gentle caress that makes the muscles in Killua’s thighs spasm as his cock jumps. He takes a deep breath and cups the backs of his knees to ensure Gon has enough space to work, but mainly, his grip is more of an anchor so he doesn’t get too carried away too soon.

Having thought about this exact moment for a few weeks now, he is already on edge. Sure, he was fingered last night, but it’s Gon’s rough, thick fingers that he’s been thinking about. He watches hungrily, how Gon’s middle finger with freckle above the knuckle enters him. It would look even better with a clean, golden ring around it. He should get Gon some jewelry—and a new wardrobe while he’s at it; there’s only so many flannels Killua can stand to witness. 

Gon must sense Killua’s straying thoughts because he dips down and lightly sucks at his balls to draw his attention again. Killua sighs contentedly and tries to focus on the subtle sensation building deep in his groin. He’s kind of obsessed with the feeling; he came so intensely the night before he thought he might die. To think he’s been missing out because of a shitty first time makes him feel silly now, especially when Gon fills him with a second finger and increases the pace and pressure.

It burns a little, but he doesn’t mind it. Gon keeps aiming for that sweet spot and grabs his dick, wet at the tip and straining. He jerks him off in time with the pump of his fingers, making Killua’s toes curl. He squeezes his own flesh, his nails digging painfully into the soft skin behind his knees. 

“How do you feel?” asks Gon, swiping his tongue out to taste a bead of precum. He hums happily, smirking when Killua rolls his eyes. “Talk to me, Killua.”

“It’s, uh, nghhh—” Killua’s hips buck up of their own accord because Gon abandons his kitten licks for full-on sucking, stilling the tips of his fingers right against Killua’s prostate and pushing into it. 

It’s a lot, _too much_ , and Killua thinks he’s going to cum already, so fucking soon, but then Gon stops, pulls away completely, eyes all wide and deceptively innocent as Killua keens at the loss. 

“It’s what?”

“It _was_ good until you stopped, asshole.”

“Tell me more. Like, ya know, how you like when I taste your cum. I know you do, so don’t lie.”

“If you know I like it then why do I need to say it?” 

Killua goes to smack Gon, but then his wrists are pinned to the bed and Gon is leaning over him with a dangerously mischievous smile that anyone would mistake for a simple grin if they didn’t know better. But Killua knows better, though he hasn’t even known Gon that long. He kisses that stupid look off Gon’s face and then they’re tousling around in the sheets, wrestling for dominance over the situation. Under normal circumstances, Killua would win, not because he’s necessarily stronger but because he plays dirty and moves quickly. But Gon is stronger _and_ plays dirty, grabbing a handful of Killua’s ass the next time he’s on top and grinding down hard.

It’s not enough to surrender until Gon shifts a little lower, his thick cock straining against thin fabric and catching against Killua’s hole. No difference is made to Gon who continues to rut, holding Killua down by his biceps, chest heaving. The moan that falls from Killua’s mouth makes both of them flush.

“Can I fuck you instead?” Gon asks sincerely, dipping down for a kiss.

Killua whines against his mouth, a little ashamed at how his body bows toward Gon as if pulled by an otherworldly force. He wants to be fucked so badly, to feel Gon how he felt Hisoka. He’s drunk with the promise of satiation that only being filled can offer. Guiltily, He just wishes Hisoka’s cum was still inside so he could watch it cover and slick up Gon’s fat dick. 

But there will be another time for that, he’s sure. He hopes so, anyway—selfishly.

“Please, fuck me,” he whispers despite himself, licking along the seam of Gon’s lips.

The answer he receives is sung against his tongue, Gon’s low groan traveling throughout him and straight to his throbbing dick. Gon parts long enough to undress and then he rolls Killua onto his side, settling behind him like they were last night, Gon’s wider body encasing Killua’s taller frame. He nuzzles into Killua’s craned neck and hikes up his leg, whispering for Killua to do the honors and so he does. Reaching down between his legs, Killua finds Gon’s erection hot and suddenly intimidating in girth as he angles it against his entrance.

Something sickeningly sweet flutters in his chest as Gon cants his hips forward to press inside and it grows in intensity and until their bodies are flush. It bursts from Killua as a deep-rooted, needy groan that Gon echoes.

“Hold your leg up for me,” he murmurs, and again, Killua does as he’s told.

Once Gon’s hand is freed, he strokes Killua's heaving stomach and chest, settling lightly at the base of his neck, panting against his ear as he rolls his hips, remaining all the way inside while his other hand finds Killua’s gripping at the sheets above their heads. 

In every way that matters, Gon has Killua fully and completely, fucking into him as if he’s a precious, rare thing to be coveted and marveled at. 

It’s too much to logically process. Killua can barely breathe, let alone think. He feels split open on Gon’s thick cock, aching but assuaged by the smooth glide of his strokes. It’s nothing like how Hisoka felt inside him, and he wonders if he’s crazy or just lovesick. Either way, it’s embarrassing how he goes slack-jawed with each thrust, how his leg shakes in the air, how he grips his own thigh so hard it hurts. 

Gon speaks again, nose brushing along the shell of Killua’s ear and pushing him further into the depths of pleasure. 

“I forgot what it’s like to be inside someone,” he growls, hips stuttering momentarily as he withdraws his cock to the head before slamming back in, “how—” he thrusts again, moaning “—do you— last so— long?”

Killua would laugh if the air wasn’t being punched out of him in short, powerful bursts. His prostate is brutally pounded from this angle, sending heady jolts of pleasure straight to his tight balls and insanely hard and pulsing dick slapping lightly against his stomach with every punctuated movement of Gon from behind.

“I feel so close to you,” Gon whines, burying himself so far it feels impossible, “can you feel it, how deep I am inside you?”

“Y-yes, yes, I feel it,” Killua chokes as his eyes flutter shut. God, he didn’t know being fucked could feel _this_ good. “It’s so good—oh, f-fuck, Gon!”

  
Gon pushes him forward suddenly and Killua goes limp and dazed, barely clinging to the sheets as his face is shoved into a pillow, his hips gripped for leverage as Gon fucks down into him roughly. It’s animalistic how Gon fucks him, his dick filling and stretching him in a way that leaves him breathless and drooling. It’s no wonder he doesn’t register his phone ringing on the bedside table until the relentless pounding of his ass halts.

“Illumi is calling.” Gon’s voice is gruff and fucked-out. “Here.”

The phone is placed to Killua’s ear before he can protest, and his brother’s clinical and proper ‘ _hello, Killua_ ’ snaps him back to reality. He twists to glare back at Gon, surprised to see his hair wilted and sweaty over his forehead, a wicked glimmer in his eye. Killua shakes his head aggressively, _don’t fucking move_ he tries to communicate, but it's too late—Gon grinds his cock deep inside and mouths _focus_.

“H-hello,” Killua grits out, taking the phone from Gon’s hand and collapsing back down onto the bed.

“Have I woken you?” 

“N-no.”

“You have yet to send the video.”

“Oh— shit— _right—_ ” Gon fucks the words out of him in short, choppy beats “— _that_.”

Gon folds over him, elbows bracketing Killua’s own. He kisses him on the cheek opposite the phone, deceptively sweet in delivery. Killua would swoon if he wasn’t so annoyed albeit distressingly horny.

“Yes, _that,_ ” Illumi echoes, unimpressed. “Was the operation a failure?”

“What do you—” his voice dissolves into a high whine that he abruptly cuts off as Gon sinks his teeth into the teeth marks Hisoka left, a delicious prickle of pain that Killua will most definitely smack him for later “— _think_ , _idiot_ ,” he rasps.

For now, Killua uses his free hand to reach back and take a handful of Gon’s hair, tugging in retaliation. 

“I’m gonna cum if you keep pulling my hair like this,” whispers Gon into one ear as Illumi’s far-away voice speaks in the other.

“I expected as much. Too many of your plans rely on others' decisions.”

“You’re...one to— talk.”

  
“Perhaps,” he drawls as Gon rocks against Killua forcefully, making the bed creak, “but you are meant to be the heir to the company whether father wants to realize that or not. You should be better than me— _the best_.”

Killua is on the verge of short-circuiting, mortification sticky like molasses in his throat. He lets go of the coarse hair poking between his fingers, and Gon retreats, slipping his cock out. Killua gasps when his hips are lifted into the air and legs splayed apart, a large hand suddenly fondling his heavy, sensitive balls. Gon plays so dirty sometimes. 

“Look,” he blurts, cringing at the croak of his voice when Gon tugs his cock and balls, his fingers in a circular cuff at the base. He starts again, braver, “stop being delusional, Illu. I’m never going to be the heir. I never _wanted_ to be. I’ll call you later, okay? I’m busy—”

“Fucking?” The word is spat into the receiver like a bolt of electricity that stiffens Killua from head-to-toe. “I know you think everyone aside from yourself is an idiot, but you are mistaken. I’ve caught you in the act enough to recognize your tells; you can’t fool me.”

Killua feels as if he has been doused in gasoline, so he hangs up the phone and tosses it to the floor as if it’s the match threatening to light him ablaze. Gon seems to pick up on the sudden mood shift because he places a few kisses against Killua’s lower back.

“I’m sorry,” he says into the tacky skin, petting along Killua’s taint, over his balls and down to the tip of his cock, wet with precum. “Was that weird? I wasn’t thinking.”

Killua sighs, willingly burying his face into the pillow this time. 

“Just finish what you started, you fucking heathen.”

He says this haughtily, as if he never hatched a plan on multiple occasions to send Illumi sex tapes for evidence, never turned to sex to spite him, nor play with himself at night when he thought his brother to be asleep. He has never thought much of any of it beyond necessity, and only considers the absurdity now because he _doesn’t_ feel weird so much as he is simply virulently desperate to cum with Gon’s dick up his ass so he can _then_ feel weird about it.

Thankfully, Gon has enough grace to move on, flipping Killua onto his back and filling him up again. They settle back into their rhythm, panting into each other’s mouths and reveling in the proximity. Neither of them last much longer. And, well, that’s that. 

Killua is brainless, limbless, and tired all over again. He goes to roll away but Gon grabs him by his spent dick, dribbling lube over it and rubbing his palm over the glans, specifically focusing on the underside as he slips a finger back inside the tight heat of his ass, massaging at Killua’s overworked insides, the squelch of Gon’s cum in his ass filling the quiet room.

“What’re you doing _now_?” Killua asks, a little panicked, his legs twitching.

“Giving you a handjob?”

“I just fucking came!” 

He tries to get away, but Gon follows. 

“I want to see if you can squirt. Don’t you?”

He smacks Gon upside the head. “Are you stupid?”

“It’s a thing,” he stresses, still holding Killua’s sensitive dick. “Let me show you.”

“Use your own dick!”

“I can’t do it! I’ve tried!”

“That’s because it’s not a thing! What makes you think I can?”

“I believe in you! Besides, you came without me even touching you...”

Killua rolls his eyes so hard it hurts. “You are—” he can’t even find the right word to describe Gon, hesitant to spit out ‘an idiot’ in light of Illumi’s observation “—ugh, whatever. _Fine._ ”

He almost immediately regrets agreeing when an insistent burn builds up in his groin, toying the line of needing to pee and an orgasm so finely that he cries out.

“Ah, fuck, fuck, fuck! Wait—” 

He bucks up into Gon’s touch and then cowers away, irritated when Gon pins him down. He shakes his head, words escaping him as he grips the sheets like he might fall through them if he doesn’t hold on. It’s a sizzling, white-hot feeling that drives him wild as Gon rubbing out fast little circles over his slit, the moist slicking noise of that and the cum being fingered out of his ass making him feel like he’s going to lose control. Gon then crooks the finger inside him insistently, and everything goes spotty.

“It’s too much,” he insists, nearly sobbing, but he doesn’t try too hard to get away.

Because at the end of the day, he should trust Gon more, though this might not be the best time.

“You can do it,” Gon answers passionately, eyes burning.

But Gon trusts him— _believes in him._ He has to try.

All at once, like a punch to the gut, it happens— _whatever it is_. 

The already testy muscles of Killua’s abdomen contract as he seems to come again soundlessly, his face so twisted he nearly bites clean through his lip. But there it is; he squirts _something_ over his chest, almost hitting Gon in the face, who looks awestruck and so embarrassingly proud. 

“Wow,” Gon breathes, finally letting go in favor of peppering Killua’s sweaty face with kisses, “that was so hot. You really did it!”

“I literally pissed myself.”

“No, you squirted.”

Killua closes his eyes, aching all over. “Same thing.”

“It’s not.”

“Is, too.”

“Do you want to have pissed yourself or squirted?” Gon sounds petulant.

“Whatever. I deserve breakfast after that,” relents Killua, popping one eye open to gauge Gon’s reaction. 

He smiles and kisses him on the lips. “Chocolate pancakes?”

Exasperated, Killua nods. The things he’ll do for Gon Freecss. At least the favor is somewhat returned. He can’t cook to save his life.

  
  
  


+

  
  
  


They spend the rest of the day lazing around, high and full on a sweetness between them that rivals Gon’s masterfully crafted pancakes. Surprisingly, Illumi doesn’t call back or even text and Killua is grateful. He’ll deal with his brother, Hisoka, and all of that shit another day. Gon is most important right now, even though he’s talking during a fucking movie.

“So, top or bottom? Which do you prefer?”

Killua sighs and gives up on trying to focus on the action playing out on the TV screen. It was already difficult considering they had neglected to turn up the volume before setting up camp on the couch. Neither of them has wanted to get up and walk the five or so feet to the TV set.

“Dunno, really. After this morning, I— well, it’s different with you, okay? It feels really good. Too good to make any sense,” he mumbles, resting his cheek on Gon’s shoulder. 

Gon squeezes him closer. “It’s because I have foreskin,” he says sagely.

“ _What?_ ”

Killua had thought it was because he loves Gon or some stupid shit like that, but he’ll let foreskin take the credit if that means he can push his recently scheduled existential crisis over life, love and the pursuit of happiness back by a week or two. 

“A friend I used to sleep with said foreskin makes intercourse _way_ better. And they said that’s probably why I can’t last very long. We tried some strange techniques to help, but nothing really works.”

He scoffs. “Did they also tell you about squirting?”

“Maybe.” 

Killua can feel Gon grinning against the top of his head.

“What about you? Top or bottom?”

Gon noses into his hair idly as he tends to do. He inhales deeply, and Killua shudders. When will he get used to Gon _smelling_ him?

“I like doing whatever my partner wants.”

“As stubborn as you are, you’re surprisingly easy-going,” agrees Killua, tucking his feet beneath him.

So easygoing to accept a spare key, to agree to come around regularly instead of sleeping in the back of a stupid Prius, to play boyfriend, and to begrudgingly agree to a truce with Hisoka—all for Killua. What makes him so special, or is this what Gon does with every person he hooks up with in a new and exciting town?

“Gon?”

“Hm?”

“Have you been in a committed relationship before?”

“No, why?”

“Just wondering.”

“Have you?”

“No.”

Amid their silence, a disconcertingly loud explosion erupts from the TV. 

“Hey, Killua?”

“Yeah?”

“What was it you were looking for back at Hisoka’s penthouse?”

Grateful yet dreading the shift in subject, Killua squirms against Gon’s side, antsy and unsure. From the walls, Alluka’s paintings, in their weird vaguely-human shapes and colors, regard him with a sudden judgmental eye. 

“Uh…”

“Don’t lie either,” Gon warns, butting Killua’s head gently. “What were you looking for?” 

Killua sizes him up. “You’re not secretly spying for Hisoka, are you?”

“No way!”

“Of course not,” Killua huffs, frumping back against the couch. He scrubs at his face. “Okay, listen: I kept this from you for your own good, but also for my own. But I guess since you’re invariably a part of this whole thing whether we like it or not, you should know.” Gon looks at him expectantly; no disappointment or betrayal flickers over his features. Killua continues on warily, “the business proposal my brother offered Hisoka is a front. It was an intentional bait keeping me around, so I can gather blackmail to jeopardize his newest business venture.”

“Oh. Illumi must know Hisoka very well to assume everything would work out like this.”

Killua has thought about that, too. Too much to be honest. “...yeah.”

Gon pouts a little. “What happens if you don’t get the blackmail? Your brother doesn’t seem very forgiving.”

“You believe in me don’t you?” Gon nods immediately. “Then don’t worry about it. With the blackmail, I get Hisoka will be exposed for his exploitive and demeaning black market dealings. He certainly has it coming.”

“How can you face him so easily—let him fuck you, even? I agreed to make amends with him, but I don’t know how well it’ll go. Even though you’re doing this because you have to, I can’t completely forgive him for taking advantage of you like this, Killua. I can’t lie like you can…”

Killua doesn’t like how that sounds. Gon makes it sound so easy, and well, it is _now_ , but he wasn’t always so good at this lying and compartmentalizing thing.

“That’s just how I was raised,” he says quietly, “you greet people with a smile and stab them when their back is turned. It’s purely business.”

Gon seems to ponder this, fingers tapping over Killua’s shoulder blade as he stares at the TV.

“Do you ever...feel bad?”

Killua falters. “I— in some ways, yes, but no, not really. I don’t think about it too much.” He only realizes that’s not true after he says it, but he continues on. “That would just make things more complicated, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess it would.” Gon pauses, still churning thoughts over in his mind. “You’re a very strong person, Killua,” he finally says. 

Killua’s stomach drops.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“You really are. I wish you could have met my dad. He would have loved you. I know it.”

That’s the last thing Killua expects Gon to say, and his heart seizes painfully in his chest as a result. Gon is trying to kill him.

“Stop saying things like that.”

“It’s true!”

Gon turns and kisses him fiercely like doing so will make his words sink in better, and for all intents and purposes, Killua lets him think so, kissing back with a matching fervor. But this is one of those moments he can feel his own insecurities well up like a due tide, washing away all of Gon’s sweetness and exposing the poison that lies beneath. He knows, logically, that these are his own defenses pooling to the surface, that he shouldn’t blame Gon for the terror welling within, but still, unease mounts, threatening suffocation.

He knows his own patterns; he is the dual-edged sword to look out for. _He_ might hurt Gon all on his own if he doesn’t let this fear go, and that’s a scary thought that has him reeling back so abruptly Gon falls forward slightly. 

He looks absolutely confused, and Killua feels instant regret...

“Sorry, I—”

A deceptively cheery cosmic melody jars the room and Killua’s heart rate soars through the roof, sure it’s Illumi calling to follow up because he has piss-poor timing. He pushes Gon away and reaches for his phone on the coffee table, breathing a sigh of relief when Alluka’s name flashes across the screen instead of his brother’s.

“Stay,” he commands Gon, heading to the bedroom.

“Killua!” 

Alluka’s usual chipper voice is tinny and her face pixelated, but she still manages to exude palpable, vibrant happiness through the screen. Killua cradles her 2D face protectively.

“Alluka!” 

“I have the best news,” she exclaims as large autumnal trees whizz behind her head, her energy like that of a particularly erratic butterfly.

Killua struggles to shift from inward panic to excitement, but his toes are quickly onboard, wiggling in the confines of his socks. Wind bustles through the speaker and on the screen, Alluka plops down on a bench, her long, brown hair flowing and whipping around her. 

“Okay, so, the Rivermere Art Showcase is next week, right?”

“Right.”

“And it's like, _the_ big event of the season, right?”

“ _Right_.”

“Well, guess what?”

“What?”

“Guess!”

“Did one of your pieces get picked for the showcase?” 

“Not just one piece, but twenty!” she corrects, “Killua, they offered me a temporary exhibition!”

“No shit! That’s incredible. I’m so proud of you!”

“There is one, teeny tiny thing,” she says, the infectious joy on her face dimming slightly.

“What is it?”

“Well, I have to secure my spot by purchasing forty tickets for the exhibit upfront. But,” she rushes, “I’ve actually thought it out, and though the showcase is too soon for me to get a job, I can fundraise—”

Killua shakes his head. “No, Alluka. I’ll cover it.”

“How? At least let me help! I want you to come, too, you know.”

“I’ve been doing some extra gigs on the side. I’ll make it happen.”

The extra gigs being Hisoka. From the dinner party and what Hisoka let him keep last night, Killua has roughly a thousand saved up, though his own elation deflates as he wonders exactly what he’ll have to do to procure another three thousand to cover the flight, hotel, and basic living necessities for the trip.

“ _Killua_ ,” she says slowly, eyeing him through the screen as if she might be able to parse out some missing information, “are you _sure_?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. I’ve got it covered.”

“Really?” Her smile betrays her piercing glare.

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

He offers a goofy, reassuring grin that requires little effort to procure.

“You better not,” she says, a finger jabbing into the camera. “I miss you so much, and I want you to meet my friends and see how I’ve decorated my dorm—you have to see it in person!”

Killua laughs. “I know, I know. I’ll be there. Promise.”

“Okay!” Alluka’s wild expression softens, her face taking up more of the screen. “How are you? You look...off. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s great. Nothing’s really going on over here,” he says, picking at one of the blanket’s many loose threads. If he maintains eye contact, she’ll know and he doesn’t want to explain something he has hardly begun to grasp himself.

“Really?” She sounds unconvinced. “Who’s the hottie then?”

Warm arms wrap around Killua’s torso, and lips graze over his temple. Killua smacks his phone face-down against his chest.

“Is that your sister?” Gon asks, kissing his way to the corner of Killua’s lips.

“Who is that?” Alluka’s voice comes out muffled. 

Killua groans. “Didn’t I tell you to stay?”

“I got lonely, didn’t know you were on a video call. Sorry.”

“At least put a shirt on if you’re gonna meet my sister,” Killua snaps, freeing himself from Gon’s bind.

Gon grumbles all the way to the closet and back. 

“Happy?” he asks, arms out in an exasperated T. 

“Yes, thank you.” 

Killua lifts the phone to see a singular bright blue eye overtaking the screen. There’s shuffling and then Alluka’s face returns properly centered, a suspicious little smile on her face. 

“Hi, I’m Alluka,” she shouts to Gon though he’s out of view. Killua wonders if people are passing by and giving her odd looks. “Who are you and what are you doing in my brother’s apartment?” 

Gon snatches the phone in a flash.

“I’m Killua’s personal massage therapis _t_ ,” he announces, glancing over at Killua with a suggestive and over-dramatic wink. “Just call me Mr. Freecs— _Mr. Gon Freecs_.”

“You are so lame! Give me my phone back!”

Killua tries to grab it, but Gon weaves out of the way and darts into the living room. Killua follows behind, hot on his heels.

“Massage therapist?” Alluka asks dubiously, “Killua spoke of a guy, but he was a stripper…”

“It warms my heart to know he talks about me, but I’m not a stripper,” Gon amends firmly, jumping over the couch to avoid Killua, “when I’m not providing excellent handiwork, I’m a nightclub dancer.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Well—“

The doorbell rings, and a confused Gon peers down at Killua who has slung himself over the back of the couch and wrapped his hands around Gon’s waist in all-or-nothing retaliation, ready to topple and conquer his nosy assailant. Gon meanly sticks out his tongue, and Killua scrambles upright, mouthing words of warning as he bumps past. He half-expects Old Man Joe coming by to ask yet again if Killua has accidentally received any of his mail, but the man at his door is an unfamiliar old man with a hearing impairment.

They exchange pleasantries, and before Killua can ask what the man needs, an ominous black, suede box is thrust into his hands. He stays put, feet sticking out the door with the humid late-summer air blanketing his clammy skin as he watches the man duck into a plain silver sedan and drive away.

Eventually, he ambles back inside and glances at Gon, now lounging on the couch with his feet kicked up on one of the arms, talking animatedly with Alluka about some sculptor from Monzaz. Killua doesn’t want to ruin the moment. Gon’s easy smile is a wonder to behold and Alluka’s laughter rings beautifully like gentle wind chimes, but it turns out Illumi isn’t the only one with bad timing. Killua makes for the bedroom again, but Gon beckons him, his laughter and the light in his eyes making Killua's chest ache. He wishes things were...normal.

But then Gon sees it. His eyes darken and not in the way Killua likes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here I will ask very kindly for any and all feedback because it truly makes my day and sometimes even week! i also do be going back and reading comments when i need motivation to keep going so c:
> 
> you can also follow me at twitter.com/thatonepeach1 for even more sporadic ramblings if you'd like. 
> 
> thanks again for all the kudos and kind comments throughout this journey so far! We're about half-way through the story now :)


	13. Inviting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> been going through it with this story, but i love it so much and refuse to give up.
> 
> if you left a comment and i haven't responded, just know i am so so grateful and all the support means the world to me.
> 
> thank you~

"The card reads—" Killua clears his throat quickly and continues as if he hadn't "— _who wants to play Mercy and who wants to watch? Sunday, 8 pm._ Jeez, could he be any more subtle?"

Killua has been navigating by ear since bringing the second black box inside. Gon's shift in mood has subdued like he's tucked it away and opted for headstrong optimism. Killua isn't completely sold, especially when he glances back at Gon after flicking the card across the room and watching it land atop the TV. Gon is laser-focused as he fondles the red ball gag with black leather straps that Killua can smell from across the couch. Gon turns it over in his hands, tapping over each of the three breathing holes so considerately stamped into the gag. 

"Hey," says Gon once he realizes Killua's eyes are on him.

"Hey," Killua parrots dryly, "can I ask a question?"

Gon perks up, eyes round and alert. "Hm?"

"When you were at The Eyre with Hisoka...that was your first time with him?"

"...yeah. Why are you asking all of a sudden?"

Gon's confusion is genuine and Killua shrugs. Hisoka is surely busy, focused on orchestrating the Romance Zone and cozying up to underground black market rings, but he has time. He had time for Gon.

"If Hisoka holed himself up with you for—what was it, three days?—then you'd think he would take advantage of these thirty days with me...it’s just weird."

Killua knows it’s because Hisoka is cautious because of the Zoldyck name and maybe more specifically, Illumi. He must really be suspicious if he’s cutting Killua’s chances of getting the blackmail and protecting Alluka down to once a week. But Hisoka has implied more than once that he’s had his eye on Killua for a while. Are these intermittent meetings really enough for Hisoka?

“The situation is a lot bigger than just me and you,” Gon says oh-so helpfully, “he must be busy. I mean, he wasn’t with me at the penthouse the whole time…usually just at night, but even then he did leave me handcuffed to the bed in favor of a dinner party...”

Killua sighs. “But you wanted that, didn’t you?”

“We _talked_ about it, but I didn’t think he was serious. Anyway, Killua, let me help you out of this.”

“What do you mean? You’ve already done so much. Besides, I thought we established that there’s no way out. We just have to deal with what’s in front of us.”

“Exactly! Can’t I help you get the blackmail that you need?”

Killua nods slowly in understanding. This is how Gon wants to move forward, to be okay with what’s happening so he can repurpose his anger instead of pridefully lugging it around without aim. Killua respects that, but he can’t actually recruit Gon to help with his dirty work; then he’d really be no different than Illumi. Though he’d be leveraging Gon’s kindness rather than blackmailing him into collecting blackmail. It’s still not any better.

“You _are_ helping,” Killua says, “just being here with me is enough.”

“But I want to do more! So I’m going play Mercy on Sunday.”

“Whatever the hell that is,” Killua mumbles. “Unless you already know?”

It’s spelled out by the contents of the black box—ball gag, blindfold, cock ring— but Killua wants to hear Gon say it.

“I _do_ know and I think that’s why Hisoka wants me to play even though it’s an open invitation. Sorry, Killua.”

“You don’t have to say it like _that_.” Killua rolls his eyes. “But since you know so much, care to explain?”

_You don’t have to be sorry,_ he wants to say. Because sorry implies he is at a loss when he isn’t. The contents of the box had made him nervous—being completely at the mercy of Hisoka more than he already is scared him, honestly. Gon objectively has more experience, so it makes sense that he’d play Hisoka’s game. This, ultimately, is the right move. Killua needs control over this situation, not to give it up and he’s best suited to do so from the sidelines.

Which is why he briefly considers telling Gon about Alluka’s unwitting involvement in all of this. But Killua can’t be sure how Gon would react. Would he be more determined to help or would he realize Killua’s personal stakes and let him take the lead? Killua suspects he knows the answer.

“Have you played the actual game _Mercy_ before?” asks Gon after a moment.

“No,” Killua admits, peering into the black box where a blindfold and cock ring sits pristinely and taunting, “but I think I get the general idea.”

“You inflict pain until your opponent cries ‘Mercy!’ With Hisoka it’s not always about pain. Sometimes the pleasure is so much it _becomes_ painful.”

“I guess you’d know all about that, huh?” Gon ignores the jab and Killua goes on, sighing, “well, at least you’ll be in your element. I’ll be relegated to the sidelines yet again.”

“You definitely weren’t on the sidelines last time.”

“Felt like it. I couldn’t even touch you.”

“True, but didn’t you like watching me come undone? _I_ liked it,” Gon admits quietly, a little shy but egged on by Killua’s prickliness. “So let’s do it again. D’you…” He blinks through his lashes, infuriatingly coy, “want a sneak peek?”

“Gon, I’m exhausted,” Killua says, throwing on his own dramatics, “my ass is sore and I have a crick in my neck from fucking. And you made me chase you earlier!”

Gon’s sultry fawning slips away and he pouts a little.

“No one _made_ you. And anyway, I wasn’t suggesting anything like that.” He reclines back against the couch cushions and starts juggling the toys. “We can just…keep making up for last night. That’s all. I still owe you a private lap-dance, you know.”

Killua snorts, nonplussed as his cock stirs up behind the drawstring of his shorts at the thought. “Right. How could I forget? So which of these,” he says sarcastically, grabbing the cock ring that falls in his lap and knowing that Gon will take him seriously, “will you be previewing then?”

  
  


+

  
  


Illumi calls again the next day when Gon isn’t at the apartment. 

  
“I have a plan.”

“Does this one involve sexual coercion or spycams?”

“Possibly, but regardless you will like this plan considering your disposition.”

Killua ignores what Illumi is implying. “Spit it out then.”

“Careful,” Illumi warns dully, “lucky for you I found out that Hisoka will be enjoying a week away on his yacht at the end of the month. There is reason to believe that the secretive group he has joined arms with will be in attendance.”

The microwave dings and Killua launches from the couch to retrieve his mug cake. Gon had shown him how to make it, but it doesn’t look quite right. Too gooey. He puts it back in for another forty-five seconds.

“You want me to be there?”

“Yes.”

“And how will I manage that? Will there be another flock of servers to infiltrate?”

“I am sure you are already invited. It’s scheduled during the last week of the agreement so I don’t think Hisoka will pass up the opportunity. In fact, it may even be purposeful.”

“How can you be so sure?” Killua nearly tacks on, _is it because you two have history_ , but knows it would have gone nowhere when Illumi could easily and so effortlessly hang up. “I’ve seen him once since this whole thing started.”

“Perhaps he is being cautious.”

“He _is._ He covered the tattoo so the footage I got was pointless,” seethes Killua, trapping his phone between his ear and shoulder so he can yank the mug cake out of the microwave and stab it with a fork. He groans when it comes out smothered in chocolate goo. “Hisoka is also scheduling meet-ups few and far between. What makes you think he’ll want me anywhere near his stupid yacht when we’re already suspect?”

“Make yourself hard to resist. That shouldn’t be a problem considering your track record.” 

“Illu—”

The call cuts out and Killua shoves the goopy cake in his mouth to keep from shouting but ends up doing so anyway as his tongue and the roof of his mouth are scalded by the abomination that has spawned in his favorite cat paw-shaped mug. 

Fuck. Killua hates Illumi so much sometimes, but he’s right. One way or another, he needs to force himself into Hisoka’s life. He has to.

  
  


+

  
  


“Did you try any of them out?” asks Hisoka once they step out from the elevator, plucking the black suede box from Gon’s hand and peering into it as if to check for cum stains.

“Naturally,” Gon says when Killua, unbearably distracted, doesn’t answer.

Hisoka’s pants shimmer in the evening light spilling in from the patio, the fabric swaying and emphasizing the cut of his waist. The chiffon blouse on his shoulders is just as light and airy, unbuttoned and drawing the eye down his toned chest. Killua has to hand it to Hisoka—the man knows how to dress even when the delivery is beyond obnoxious. The presentation is candy-like: a tempting shiny shell teasing a surprise inside. It’s like he’s always begging to be unwrapped as if it’s easy to find out exactly what the surprise inside is, whether it be a sweet, gooey center or the hard inner layer of a jawbreaker. 

What a gilded appearance. Hisoka is anything but easy.

“Naturally, hm?” Hisoka grins. “With each other?” Gon goes to speak again, but Killua recovers and gives him a shushing glance. “You two are so much fun,” continues Hisoka, sighing wistfully before sauntering off toward the double doors leading to the door with the 5575 code that Killua can’t seem to forget.

“Don’t tell him anything he doesn’t need to know,” Killua warns quietly.

Gon’s answering smile is sheepish as he saunters after Hisoka. Killua, hands in his pockets, follows dutifully. The first time he’d come down this hallway he was at the cusp of a moral crisis, caught between desire and pride. He found a way to move forward and appease both sides, having thought he was defying Illumi by seducing Hisoka. Ironically that had been Illumi’s plan all along; he was banking on it in fact, knows Killua well enough, and now here he is: the line he is toeing between business and pleasure is blotted out like a shallow mote drawn in the sand. 

Past the sitting room, Hisoka waits near the doorway, gesturing to the bed like Gotoh used to when it was bedtime. The tulle canopy is drawn to reveal a rigged chain and cuffs that dangle from the frame.

“So, who’s beginning for mercy tonight?” Gon steps forward and Hisoka grins. He doesn’t jeer about the limo, Heroes, or anything that Killua fears he might. He simply says, “mm, just as I’d expected. Same rules as before?”

Hisoka and Gon apparently discussing the rules for their twisted games only serves to quell Killua’s nerves a miniscule amount. Mainly he is just left wondering what the rules are as Gon starts stripping in reply, all serious business as shirt, pants, shoes, socks are discarded until he’s wearing only the cock ring and a slight frown aimed at Hisoka. Killua twiddles his thumbs, feeling out of place all over again as he hovers near the door. 

He considers folding the clothes Gon discarded on the settee nearby but then he remembers he can’t fold clothes nearly as neatly as a grown adult should.

“Killua,” calls Hisoka, having noticed his unease and looking sly, “will you get Gon ready?”

He offers the black suede box. Taking it from Hisoka himself feels completely different—far more purposeful. 

“Sure.”

Following Hisoka’s instruction, Gon settles at the end of the bed and Killua starts at Gon’s feet, taking his ankles and cuffing them to the bedpost. Gon’s cock chubs in the crook of his pelvis as he fastens the buckles and near the bureau, Killua had ransacked for the spider ring, Hisoka watches like a hawk. 

“The rules you need to know, Killua, are simple.” Hisoka has taken on a presenter’s tone like this is all some grand gameshow. “Red stop, yellow is also stop but with some considerations, and green is go. Quite easy, no?”

Killua looks up at Gon as if to say _you trust him_ and is offered a reassuring smile. The jealous and anxious tide swells in him all the same, sloshing the contents of their shared breakfast. Killua hopes it isn’t obvious and glances back at Hisoka.

“How will he say so if he’s gagged?” he asks.

“The gag won’t completely prevent him from speaking, but even so, he can also snap his fingers if he wants to stop.”

Once Gon’s legs are so splayed, per Hisoka’s orders, Killua cuffs his hands next. The handcuffs are leather this time, heavy and stiff in Killua’s hands as he pulls the chains until the cuffs reach Gon’s wrists.

It’s quiet as Killua works, clasping buckles and adjusting the chain until Gon is rigged taut. It’s all Gon can do to bring his head forward and nudge Killua’s chest once he’s all finished. Killua ruffles his hair, holds him to his chest for a moment, wondering if Gon can hear how loudly his heart beats for him. 

“Now the blindfold and then the gag,” murmurs Hisoka intrusively. “Keep him still by his hair.”

Killua huffs and pulls Gon back into position like he’s told, earning a quiet whimper in response. He glances down at Gon’s cock, now fully hard and hanging. Good. At least Gon is into this. That makes Killua feel better. He situates the blindfold and then goes for the ballgag next. 

“Open,” he whispers, tapping Gon’s bottom lip. He fits the gag in Gon’s mouth as they practiced. “Is that okay?”

“Yes,” Gon manages quickly, the word coming out muffled as he nods eagerly to prove the point.

Hisoka hums in approval, the timber of it close enough for Killua to feel the air of it along his ear. He was startled, having been so focused on Gon he hadn’t noticed Hisoka’s approach.

“Good boy,” Hisoka praises, voice low and so damn syrupy, oozing down to Killua’s core.

“What now?” he asks, turning to seek out Hisoka’s gaze, but the man takes his chin and forces him to stay focused on where Gon sits.

“We’re in no rush,” he says, “look at him, Killua. All mine to do as I please. I’m surprised you want to sit back and watch again, but that’s fine with me. You know I like to put on a good show.” 

“I don’t want to just sit back and watch,” Killua says a bit breathlessly as he takes in Gon’s form laid bare, muscles stretched and skin free of marks and bruises, body rolling with each slight rotation of his hips. Its obvious Gon wants to be touched, and Killua can’t bear to be left out again. “Won’t it be more fun if I play, too?”

“You had your chance,” Hisoka says flatly, turning Killua’s head so their eyes finally meet. He pins Killua to the spot with his oppressive gaze, challenging almost. “But I’ll hear you out. What do you have in mind?”

“Whatever it is you want, I’ll do it. Just tell me what to do. _Within reason_ ,” he adds hastily.

Gon shifts more intensely behind them, the chains raising his arms to the ceiling clinking together. 

Hisoka’s other hand comes to Killua’s hip and maneuvers him until they’re facing each other completely. They’re going on like Gon’s not here and Killua feels slightly embarrassed about it, his heart hammering hard enough he’s sure Hisoka can hear it. 

“You want to be my puppet?”

“That’s the most unattractive way to put it, but yes.” 

Hisoka’s answering smile is sinister. “On one condition.”

“What is it?”

“If Gon cums before an hour is up, then you have to fulfill one request of mine.”

Gon grumbles behind them as Killua bristles. They all know Gon can’t last that long. Now, if it were a question of how many orgams Gon _can_ have, perhaps he would be more optimistic.

“Aren’t I under that obligation already? I can’t exactly deny you.”

“True, but _this_ request you really can’t deny. It wouldn’t be in the spirit of the game if you did.”

Killua pushes further into Hisoka’s space, defiantly raising his chin still between sharp forefinger and thumb. “If you’re so into the game then you know this condition is unfair. Gon can’t last that long.”

A muffled and exasperated ‘hey!’ comes from Gon.

“Shouldn’t you have a little more faith in your lover?” 

Hisoka leans in close enough for their noses to touch and Killua inhales sharply, tracking the fine line of black ink around Hisoka’s eyes. There’s a tick of imperfection in his eyeliner, the result of a twitchy muscle or distraction. He wonders how easily it smears.

“When Gon _does_ last,” he corrects, his hands fisted in his pockets, “what then?”

Hisoka’s thumb drags over his lips teasingly.

“You can have anything you like.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

Hisoka kisses him. Quick, soft, and barely-there but the intent of it slams against Killua all the same. He pulls away too soon to be nonchalant, bothered by his own flustering. If he’s blushing as furiously as he feels he is, at least Hisoka is kind enough not to mock him.

“Five grand,” Killua demands, “if Gon lasts an hour then I want five grand no questions asked.”

Hisoka, for a split second, looks disappointed. But Killua can’t be too sure; he mainly sees the subtle shift in expression from the corner of his eye, gaze now trained on Gon for a sign that he might have heard the kiss. 

“After money now, are we? Is your dear brother not giving you a cut of his future profits?”

It’s clear that Gon is listening intently by the crease of his brow eclipsing the blindfold, but there’s no visible change in his demeanor. His jaw looks tense but it’s probably from the stretch of the gag and his boner has flagged a bit but is still full, balls drawn tight by the cock ring hugging him.

Killua frowns. “I wouldn’t want any of it even if Illumi were to share.”

“But my money is good enough for you? What’s it for anyway?”

“Didn’t I just say no questions asked?”

Killua is happy Gon can’t see him right now. His voice doesn’t waver; he sounds confident, snarky even, but he’s sure by the look on Hisoka’s face that he doesn’t look it.

“Hm, then I’ll ask once Gon cums in ten minutes flat,” says Hisoka flippantly. “Shall we begin?


End file.
